Passions Past
by Dana Keylits
Summary: What happens when Castle asks Kate "Have you ever kissed another woman?" Caskett story with Slashy elements. Set during season five. The story is mine, but the characters and settings are not. They belong to Andrew Marlowe and company, with whom I am unaffiliated.
1. Chapter 1

**Passions Past**

**By Dana Keylits**

**Please note: This is a Caskett story, but it contains some Slashy elements that relate to Kate's past. If you are at all judgmental about same-sex affection, please do not bother reading. I don't want my inbox filling up with homophobic rants. Thank you! **

* * *

It had been a particularly difficult day for everyone at the 12th. The case they were working on was complicated and messy, and although they'd solved it, everyone felt drained and in need of profound restoration. Castle, hoping to provide a smidgen of respite for them, suggested they go to the Old Haunt for drinks. He was buying. It was, after all, _his_ bar.

Kate and Lanie found themselves a corner booth and settled in while Castle got them drinks. Ryan and Javier were still stuck at the precinct finishing up paperwork, but planned to join the group as soon as they could.

After checking her Facebook status, Lanie absently tucked her iPhone in her pocket and then shifted in her seat to face Kate. "So," chin-nodding in Castle's direction, "how's everything going with him?"

Kate popped a peanut into her mouth. "It's good," she nodded, her eyes twinkling as they wandered to where Castle stood behind the bar. She wrinkled her nose and smiled. "Fun."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Lanie replied, winking.

Kate laughed, leaning back in the booth and watching Castle as he used his affable charm to appease an angry customer. She looked at Lanie. "And, what about you and Javier? You guys still just friends?" An arch of her eyebrow, "with benefits?"

Lanie rolled her eyes, "Honestly, I don't know _what_ we are. We don't want to be together, but we don't want to _not_ be together."

"Sounds complicated," Kate replied.

"Girl, that isn't even the half of it!"

Kate was about to ask about the other half of it, but stopped short when a tall, black, well muscled, twenty-something man approached the table. He eyed Lanie up and down pouring on thickly the _lets have a one night stand_ kind of charm while ignoring Lanie's obvious, though amused, rebuffs. When it was clear he wouldn't take no for an answer, Kate slapped her badge on the table. Usually, that did the trick. Unfortunately, Lanie's young casanova wasn't easily deterred.

So, Kate inched closer to Lanie, curving her arm seductively around her friends shoulders. "We're together," She lied, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He smiled. Looking from one to the other, not catching her drift.

Kate raised her eyebrows, scooting even closer. "She's _with_ me? So..."

He continued to just stare.

Kate rolled her eyes, "Oh for god's sake," She reached over and framed Lanie's face with both hands, and, surprising the hell out of Lanie, planted a kiss squarely on her mouth. Their lips lingered for a few seconds, their eyes fluttering closed before they slowly parted.

Lanie suppressed her giggles as best she could while Kate turned back to the poor man, who, having finally figured it out, was now backing away from the pair.

"Ohhhhhh," Tall, dark, and clueless responded. "You're _together_, together."

Lanie and Kate, still in each others arms, nodded.

"Okay, then. Well, nice meeting you." He turned on his heel and walked away.

They hadn't noticed Castle. He stood there, holding their drinks precariously in his hands, slack-jawed and panting. "Wha, whoa, wha..."

"Settle down, Castle," Kate instructed, scooting back to her spot and seizing one of the wine glasses from his hand. "It's no big deal."

Lanie accepted the other glass, amused at his obvious confusion - and excitement. Then she side-glanced at Kate, "_You_," She pointed at Kate, "have done that before!"

"Of course she's done that before," Castle interjected, lowering his voice as he sat across from the two women. "_A lot_ of times before, if you know what I mean." He winked.

"Everyone knows what you mean, Castle." Kate admonished, throwing him a look of mock indignation.

Lanie shook her head. "No, I mean, you've done _that_ before. With a woman?"

Castle's eyes grew wide, "What?"

Kate pursed her lips, "What are you talking about? I have not." She shifted her eyes away, as though hoping the topic would shift with them.

"Girl? Please! You used tongue!" Lanie gently wiped her lips with her fingertips, "And rather well, I might add." She playfully eyed Kate up and down and then took another sip of her wine, grinning sheepishly.

"You used tongue?" Castle said, his voice rising eagerly, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

Kate folded her arms and regarded him, her lips drawn in a thin line, eyes narrowed.

"_Yes_. _She_. _Did_," Lanie affirmed, hiding behind her wine glass.

Castle clapped his hands together and brought them to his lips. "Well, this is just..._delicious_."

* * *

He couldn't stop thinking about it. Kate. Lanie. Kissing. _Why was that so hot?_ And Lanie's suggestion that Kate had done that before? With other women? It was almost more than his adrenalized libido could bear.

He had to know. Laying on his back in her bed, his fist tapping absently against his forehead. He glanced at her, she was on her side, facing away from him, asleep, or at least pretending to be asleep.

They hadn't arrived at her place until after midnight, and she was so tired, that all they could do was slip out of their clothes and climb naked, exhausted, into bed. She was sound asleep within minutes.

But Castle lay awake, he couldn't get his mind to veer away from the image of Kate kissing another woman. She'd called him a pig on the drive home. _What if I'd been kissing Javier? Would you be so excited by that?_ She'd asked, annoyed by his constant questions.

He had to admit, she had a point.

_Still_, it was hot! He didn't know why, he didn't care why, it just _was_.

He rolled over and tucked his hands beneath the pillow. He stared at her bare back, desperately wanting to reach out and caress her supple skin, but didn't, not wanting to be an ass since he knew she was utterly exhausted and needed to sleep.

He sighed.

"What?"

Startled, Castle paused, making sure he hadn't imagined it.

"Castle. What?"

_She was awake!_ He replied, whispering, "What, what?"

She turned over to face him, a disapproving look on her face. "I can hear you, Castle."

He raised his eyebrows, confused, "I didn't say anything!"

"Yeah," she replied, "you were _not_ saying anything very loudly."

He stared at her, his mouth agape.

"It's the girl on girl kissing thing, isn't it?"

"Whaaaat?"

"God, Castle. Why is that such a big deal to you?"

"I, I don't know. I'm sorry, but It's hot, Kate. Sexy. What's _not_ to like about it?

"So, if Lanie and I were to have an affair, you'd be fine with that because it's sexy?"

He paused. "Well, no, I guess I wouldn't like that."

"So, what's the difference?"

He looked past her, focusing on a spot on the wall. "No fair with the Jedi mind tricks." He accused petulantly, propping his head sullenly in one hand.

She rolled her eyes.

"Just tell me this. Is it true what she said? _Have_ you kissed other girls?"

She propped her own head in her hand and stared at him for a full thirty seconds before answering. He waited, sensing she was about to say something revelatory.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes, please." He said, smiling.

She sighed. "Fine. Okay, yes. I have kissed another woman."

He didn't say anything. His heart was racing in disbelief, he felt dizzy, breathless, _aroused_. He raised his eyebrows as if to say _go_ _on_.

"It was in college." She paused, shaking her head and smiling. She scrutinized his eyes, her own narrowing. "Are you sure you want to hear this story?"

He nodded, a stupid grin plastered on his face, his eyes dilating with anticipation.

She regarded him again, biting the inside of her cheek before continuing. "It was my first year at Stanford. I was at a party. I was miserable, lonely, I barely knew anyone," Her eyes drifted past him, "...when this really lovely girl started talking to me like we were long lost friends." She scratched the tip of her nose with one slender finger. "We started talking, and drinking, and then we danced together.' She shook her head, smiling, her eyes returning to his. "It was totally innocent, Castle. But, I was intrigued by her. Oddly attracted to her, you know?"

He nodded._ He knew._

"Anyway, I think it was just the night, the lubrication from the alcohol. She was so beautiful, all long legs, feminine curves, curly jet black hair that spilled down to her waist. God, she had this amazing _confidence_ about her." Kate let out a long breath, "Something I didn't really have at the time, so, more than anything, that's what drew me to her. Like," She paused, searching for the right words, "...I wanted to _be_ her."

Castle realized he'd been holding his breath. He exhaled quickly before filling his lungs with air.

She threw him an amused look and continued. "The party was starting to die down, so we went outside to sit on the patio. There were only a few other people milling around." She raised her eyes to the ceiling, smiling. "I don't even remember who initiated it, Castle, but." She looked back down at him, "We just started - making out." She shrugged.

He swallowed.

"Her lips were so soft, and round, and full. Just. Perfect. And, wow, she was a good kisser." She ran her fingertips across her lips, as though they remembered, too. "We probably sat out there for twenty minutes, just kissing, and we could have gone on like that _all_ night." She reached out and lightly brushed her fingers over the stubble on his chin. "No face burn when you're kissing a woman." She laughed.

"Did you...?"

Her lips curved up in one corner, "Do anything else?"

He nodded, eagerly.

She paused as though considering her answer. "Yes."

He waited, dizzy, breathless. _Yes? Did she just say, yes?_

"We," She took another deep breath. "...went back to her place. She had this tiny little apartment near campus." She shifted, lifting her head and curling her hand in a fist before returning her head to rest against it. "I knew what she wanted when we went there, it wasn't like she was taking advantage of me." She paused again, as though considering her words carefully. "Truthfully, I'd never even thought about being with a woman before. But, you have to understand, Castle. She was something extraordinary. She was _hypnotizing_, _exquisite_."

He nodded knowingly, gazing at her with adoring eyes. "I know the type." _You're the type. Extraordinary, hypnotizing, exquisite._

She blushed. Then hesitated, uncertainty suddenly flickering across her face.

He jutted his chin towards her, encouraging her to go on. "So...?"

She smiled, "So. She took me to her bed, Castle. She," Kate raised her eyes to the ceiling again, "did things to me I didn't know were possible."

He was holding his breath again.

"She took control. But not in an aggressive way. It was very sweet, very measured and thoughtful. She was more concerned with making sure I was okay, that I was," She paused, "..._pleasured_." She smiled, her eyes ablaze. "She undressed me, guided my hands to undress her. She showed me how she wanted me to touch her. And, when she touched me? It was like, _electricity_."

_Electricity. Yes, he knew the feeling. Every time he was with her._

"Her tongue? Oh my goodness, the things she could do..."

His head snapped up. _Her tongue?_ "Like..." He swallowed hard, an adolescent, panting grin on his face. "...what?"

She raised herself up on one elbow, her face inches from his, her breath warm on his lips. "She _touched_ me with it."

"_Touched_ you?" He asked, intrigued. "_Where_?"

He felt himself grow hard at the smoldering, mischievous expression on her face. The sudden playful arch of her eyebrow told him that she'd noticed. She reached for his hand and grasped it in hers, guiding it seductively beneath the covers, never allowing her hazel-brown eyes to stray from his. Their hands slid along the curve of her hip, the outside of her thigh, the inside of her thigh, then up to the place between her legs.

He swallowed.

"_Here_," She whispered, pressing his hand against her sex.

She was wet, warm, _ready_. He cupped her and a velvety sigh tumbled past her parted lips.

Then, she forced his hand away, as though afraid of what might happen if they lingered there for too long, and guided it slowly up her body, over her abdomen, until they rested on her naked, goose-fleshed, breast. He massaged it, using his thumb and forefinger to pinch the perfectly erect gumdrop nipple.

"_Here_." Her misty eyes searching his for a response.

_Breathe, Rick, just, fucking breathe._

She let his hand, covered by hers, linger there for a moment, savoring his caress. Her eyes fluttered closed, her lips parted, her breath hot against his cheek. Then, remembering her purpose, she led them away from her breast, up to her throat where he fanned his fingers to lightly tickle her skin, to her parted lips, where they paused and she affectionately kissed the pads of his fingers.

"_Here_." She whispered against them.

She took his index finger into her mouth, sucking on it as she pulled it slowly out, her eyes locked onto his, then she pushed it back in and twirled it around with her tongue.

He gasped, and pushed himself against her, his erection persistent and eager on her hip

She continued, fully aware of the effect she was having on him - a growing awareness of the effect this was having on _her_, too. She wriggled her hips against him, whispering, "She was so beautiful, Castle. You should have seen her. Her breasts," She held out one hand, curving her fingers, "they were firm, and round. They fit perfectly in my hands, and, it was so titillating to play with them." She grinned slyly, "No pun intended."

_Play with them?_ The image conjured up in Castle's fertile imagination was almost more than his aroused body could absorb.

"Oh, and she smelled like, like." She paused, as though sniffing the air around her, "...coconut. And, she tasted..."

"Tasted?" He squeaked.

Kate nodded, seeming to enjoy his growing carnal discomfort. "Like," She thought, raising her eyes to the ceiling before slowly meeting his eager stare, "vanilla and cocoa butter."

"You," He cleared his throat, "...tasted her?"

A sly grin creeping along her face, she rolled so half the length of her body covered half the length of his. She could feel his hardened excitement against her thigh. "Does that turn you on, Castle? Knowing I," She paused, kissing him softly on the mouth, flicking her tongue along his bottom lip before pulling away, "...tasted another woman?"

His sharp intake of breath was the only answer he could give.

And then he was on top of her, _inside_ of her, their mouths engaged in a deep, frenzied, unabashed kiss. They were both ready, and despite her exhaustion, Kate matched his enthusiasm and rocked her hips against each thrust of him into her.

He had the nipple of one breast in his mouth, sucking it, nipping at it, swirling it around with his tongue, while her other breast was fully embraced by his wanting, eager hand.

Her head thrown back, eyes closed, body arched with anticipation, she moaned as the familiar ecstatic pleasure built up deep inside of her, seeking liberation, release, gratification. Sensing she was close, he quickened his rhythm, thrusting harder, deeper, more deliberately.

Until, finally, quickly, in a sudden frenzy of pleasure, she came. Wave after wave seized her, and she cried out, desperately grasping at his back, his neck, his hair, anywhere her hands could find purchase. Her entire charged body rocked and hummed and vibrated with sweet fulfillment.

And when she was still, he hesitated, relishing the sweet sensation of their sweaty, intoxicated joined bodies until finally, when he could wait no longer, he resumed his metronomic gyrations - the inevitable building within him, too. She tightened around him, moving her hips in anticipation of his need, until in one exhilarating, thunderous burst he came, pumping, thrusting, rocking inside of her until he was completely depleted and he collapsed on the bed in a sweaty, satiated heap, unable to breath, to talk, to think.

After a few minutes, he turned his head to gaze at her with unfocused eyes. She was staring at the ceiling, one hand casually resting against her forehead, her body calm, even, still, her bare chest rising and falling with each measured breath, her skin glowing. _God, she is beautiful_. He thought.

He exhaled heavily. "I still can't believe you had sex with a woman," he whispered, his deep voice cutting through the stillness of the room.

She turned her head and grinned at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

His eyes grew wide. "You - _made that up_?" He accused.

She laughed. "God, Castle, you are _such_ an easy mark."

"Whoa, that's. That's. That is just _mean_, Kate!"

She rolled over, caressing his cheek with the palm of her hand. "I'm sorry, Castle. I just couldn't help myself. You were such an ass about it, I had to do it. We both know you'd have no respect for me if I hadn't!"

He balled up his hand in a fist and pumped it in the air, "Jedi mind tricks, again! Ugh!"

She nuzzled against him and he put his arm forgivingly around her.

"It was fun for a minute, though. Wasn't it? The idea of it?" She asked.

'Yes," He conceded, pulling her closer.

She laughed, then drew the covers up and over her shoulder and closed her eyes. Sleep came quickly and before long they were curled up together, blissfully dreaming of love, and lust, and forbidden infatuation.

* * *

Padding barefoot and boxer clad towards the bathroom after putting the coffee on to brew, a small framed black and white picture that was sitting on the table in her living room jumped out at him. He picked it up and immediately recognized a younger, but still striking, Kate Beckett. She was holding a solo cup in one hand and sitting on a couch with another woman who's arm was draped protectively around Kate's shoulders.

He sucked in a lungful of air and looked more closely at the picture.

The other woman had long black curly hair, and she was looking at Kate with unabashed, _carnal_, affection. Looking closer, _was Kate's hand resting on the other woman's thigh?_

His mouth dropped open. _This was her_. He thought. _This was the woman_!

Just then, Kate sauntered into the room, wearing a short satin bathrobe, rubbing her eyes with the heels of both hands. Her eyes fell to the framed picture in Castle's curious hands and froze, looking from it to him then back again. A momentary look of panic skittered across her face before she recovered and walked to him.

"Is this?" He held the picture up for her to see.

She took the picture from him and silently returned it to it's place on the table.

"Let me know when the coffee's ready," she asked, making her way towards the bathroom. "I'll be in the shower."

**Please note. This may remain a one-shot, but there is room for additional chapters. Your feedback, and my schedule, will help me decide if I will continue this story. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Passions Past **

**Chapter Two**

By Dana Keylits

She got up early, as was her usual preference, before the mornings sky had embarked upon its transformation from black to blue to pink. Settling herself against the couch cushions, a warm blanket draped across her lap, a mug of hot coffee nestled in her hands, she closed her eyes and sighed. Then she picked up the black and white photograph and stared at it with blazing unfocused eyes, her lips gently curving as her mind traveled back in time like a glad visitor.

God, she hadn't thought about her, in ways other than fleeting, for years and years. But Castle's adolescent caveman antics the other night had summoned memories from the forgotten corners of her mind as though extending an invitation to a long lost friend. At first, she'd had no intention of sharing that part of herself with him, but, caught up in the moment, finding herself oddly aroused, she'd apparently decided to throw open the shutters.

And, it was confusing, because the object of her arousal was _him,_ but the genesis of it had been _her_. What did that mean? Was she still attracted to her? Or was it, as she was inclined to believe, simply a perfect storm? Whipped up by the convergence of alcohol, exhaustion, Castle's deliciously naked body warm and throbbing beside hers, and the titillating memories of her past sapphic desires?

Whatever the case, the feelings lingered and her belly stirred, like an aftershock, in memory of their fantastic lovemaking the other night.

And, perhaps, at the dusty memory of _her._

She let the water from the shower cascade down her body, hugging her curves until it swirled clockwise down the drain at her feet. She stayed in there so long, her body pink from the heat, that when she finally stepped out, the bathroom was hazy with steam.

She padded to her bedroom, the steam following her like tentacles, covered in the oversized terry cloth robe that Castle had brought back with him two years ago when they were in L.A. together. She wrapped it tightly around her naked body, smiling at the memory of that trip. Besides hunting down Royce's killer, it was then that Kate knew it was only a matter of time before she and Castle would be together, that she wouldn't be staying with Josh, and that she only had to find a way to end things with him.

But then the shooting happened, and her world turned completely upside down.

She threw on a pair of old Levi jeans, ripped at the knee and patched in several places, but by far her most comfortable, and favored, pair of jeans. They were perfect for lazy stay at home days like this one.

Castle was writing, and Kate had said days ago that she really wanted a day to herself. She had laundry to do, bills to pay, and a pile of magazines and journals that she'd been neglecting, all of which she wanted to read, but she hadn't had time, so there they sat, in one ever growing pile on her book case.

But, now that her day of solitude was here, she was restless. And, she didn't want to read, or pay bills, or do laundry. If she was being completely honest, all she _really_ wanted to do was - _fuck_.

Always seeming to know when to make an entrance, Castle had chosen that very moment to call her, as though the universe had reached out and whispered in his ear, _she's hot for you, better call. _ She picked up her iPhone, his famous mug staring back at her, and swiped her finger across the screen.

"Hey, Castle. So how's the writing?"

"I'm stuck." He replied, a long, deep sigh echoing from the other end of the phone.

"Already?" She asked, glancing at her watch. It wasn't even noon yet.

"It happens. I was hoping for some inspiration."

She crossed the room and dropped herself down on the couch, draping the throw over her lap before propping her slipper-clad feet against the coffee table. "Yeah? What kind of inspiration?"

"We could start with the _kinky_ kind," He suggested sheepishly, the smile on his face channeled through the phone.

She felt a twinge.

"Yeah? Well, did you have something _specific_ in mind?"

He paused. "You mean, you're game?" She could imagine him, sitting bolt upright in his office chair, his eyebrows raised, his face breaking out in an adolescent grin.

Husky voiced, she replied, "I'm game."

After recovering from the shock of her acquiescence, he gave her a set of quick, simple instructions, ice, music, towel, heat.

"You want me to turn up the heat?" She asked, confused.

"You're about to get naked, Kate. And, I'm not there to keep you warm."

A slow grin spread across her face, "I have a feeling I'm about to get _very_ warm, Castle."

And she was.

"Where are you?" He asked.

"On the couch."

"Perfect, laying down? Sitting up?"

"Laying down."

"Good."

On the other end of the phone, she heard the unmistakable grunt of someone who had just lifted themselves out of a chair, followed by a soft "click", as though he had closed a door.

"I want you to close your eyes, Kate. And, imagine me there. Imagine my hands."

_His hands. Yes, she loved his hands._

"I'm running my hand slowly along your thigh, up your hips, slipping beneath your shirt."

Her skin was warm, she closed her eyes. "Now up to your breasts, squeezing, using my finger to tease your nipple over the fabric of your bra." Her middle finger traced lazy circles around it, feeling it quickly respond to her provocative touch. "Do you have me on speaker?"

"No," She whispered.

"Put me on speaker."

She opened her eyes and did as instructed, cradling the phone at her hip.

"Now take off your top." She raised herself up, crossing her arms as she reached for the hem of her t-shirt, then lifted it up over her head, her hair settling carelessly around her shoulders. "Now your bra." She reached behind her and unclasped it, her breasts heaving, her nipples erect. She tossed it aside. "Now, touch yourself, Kate. Imagine it's me there. Use the ice." She reached for the bowl of ice, deftly placing one cube between her thumb and forefinger, then circled her nipple with it, a deep throated moan tumbling from her lips. "That's right, Kate. Let the water from the melting ice drop on your body." Her flesh felt on fire and she could almost see the steam rising with each drop of the cold water against her hot skin, her breasts, her abdomen, her throat. "Now put the ice in your mouth and suck."

He sounded out of breath, as though he'd been running, or, something else. The corners of her mouth curved up.

"Now slide one hand down your jeans. That's me, that's my hand. Are you hot there, yet?"

"Yes," She whispered almost inaudibly. She felt dizzy, out of control, inexplicably nervous, yet safe, protected, _loved_, at the same time. She rocked her hips against her hand, seeking relief from the mounting tension between her legs.

"Unbutton and unzip your jeans, Kate." She did, immediately returning her hand to the place between her legs. "My fingers are there now, beneath your panties, Kate. _I can feel you." _She was wet, ready, throbbing, her body vibrating with need, with want, impassioned, but frustrated, too. She sighed, letting all of the air escape her lungs before taking a deep, throaty breath.

"Are you wet?"

"Yes."

"Are you ready?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes!"_

"Take off your jeans, then you're panties." She made swift work of them.

"You know how I like to put my fingers inside of you, Kate. I'm doing that now." So was she. "In and out, Kate, slowly, sliding, rubbing, circling, can you feel me?"

"Yes,"

"I have my mouth on your nipple, nipping at it," She tugged, "And my fingers inside of you, my thumb swirling against you, it's bringing you close." _Yes, she was close, very close_. "I want to be _inside_ of you, Kate. Imagine that, the weight of my body on yours, I'm in you, we're rocking, we have perfect rhythm, I'm filling you." Her fingers went deeper, the cadence of her hips increasing. Her breathing hard, labored, heavy. Even through the speakerphone he could hear it. "That's right, Kate. I want to feel you come against me. Are you close?"

She could only moan.

"Good," He said.

He continued to purr through the phone as she worked herself towards climax. The sensation of which was unlike anything she'd experienced before. _Except, for, well, except for then, way back then._

Her eyes roamed of their own accord to the black and white photograph of her college lover. Her_ female_ college lover, and a spark ran through her, sending her over the edge.

Wave after wave against her hand, her body vibrating, shaking with pleasure, Crying out, calling for him, _"Rick," _panting, humming, then, when she grew still, purring. Her body was warm, hot, since she'd turned up the heat, and slick with sweat.

She crossed her legs at the ankles, squeezing the muscles of her center in one final satisfied spasm, raising her arms above her head and stretching, her naked, glowing body arched. She had the composure of a completely satisfied woman. She _was_ a completely satisfied woman.

She suddenly realized that Castle had been very quiet for the last several minutes. She turned her head towards the phone, which had slipped beneath her legs onto the couch. She lifted it to her lips, softly, "Castle?"

Before he could reply she was distracted by a gentle rapping at the door. _Shit!_ Who the hell was knocking on her door now?

"That's me, Kate." He was panting.

A puzzled look flittered across her face.

"What?"

Throaty, "That's me. At the door. Open it."

She leapt off the couch, quickly wrapping her naked body in the soft blanket. Peeking through the eyehole, it _was_ him! She threw open the door and he charged in, gathering her in his arms, his need hard against her belly.

"How?"

"I have a Ferrari," He explained between kisses. "It goes fast." His tongue, his fabulous tongue, parting her lips, searching her mouth, joining with her tongue in a frenzied, crazy dance. "Valet at the hotel next door." He explained further, as he tugged at the blanket, she let it fall to the floor as they made their way backwards towards the couch. She made quick work of his shirt, and reached for his belt, unbuckling it, unbuttoning his jeans, pulling on the zipper, her hands reaching for him, finding him, hard, ready, eager, wanting, throbbing against her hand as she gently, expertly, stroked. He stepped out of his clothes just as they hit the couch.

He was inside of her quickly, his mouth teasing her nipples, her earlobes, her throat, his tongue diving past her lips in a desperate, frenzied exploration of her mouth.

Popping one of the melting ice cubes into his mouth, he slowly, tortuously teased one nipple, and then, not wishing to be neglectful, the other, her back arching against him as the cold water traveled in a haphazard path from her breasts, tracing the curves of her body before being absorbed by the towel they'd placed beneath her.

He tempered his movements inside of her, as though pacing them to some unheard metronome; his body knew hers, knew it's rhythm, it's need, it's pace and vibration, every curve, the gentle slope of her hips, her teardrop breasts, her peach of an ass. He _knew _her, and he knew how to bring her body, like an orchestral conductor, to a crescendo. And then, he knew how to do it again, and again.

She thought she might burst into a million sharp pieces, her body charged, her mind spinning, every sense of her heightened, raw, infused with electricity, and although she was hot, _blazing,_ her skin was goose-fleshed at his touch.

And she was _coming_, hard.

He paused inside of her while she writhed and spasmed, the full expanse of her naked body quivering against him, bringing _him_ close to the edge.

She called out for him. "Castle! Fuck. Me. Castle."

He pulled almost all the way out of her before thrusting back in, she clawed at his back, branding him with her fingernails, drawing blood, her cries echoing off the walls like thunder, her body singing a perfect melody of pleasure and ecstasy, crashing satisfaction, completeness, in purest sexual alchemy.

She put her hand to his cheek, breathing hard, "Wait."

He paused, still inside of her, hovering over her, his arms trembling, his sweat mixing with hers. She opened her eyes to see his baby blues staring fervently at her, he was concentrating, focused, she almost looked away from the intensity of it, but so mesmerized she could do nothing but stare back at him, her eyes welling up inexplicably with salty, satisfied, tears.

And then, with the slightest of movement she nodded her head.

He slammed into her, crying out, "Kate!"

Filling her completely, she matched his movement, curling her legs around his middle but finding it difficult to keep hold, their joined bodies so slick with sweat that her legs could not keep their purpose.

But it didn't matter, because with one final thrust of himself into her, penetrating her entirely, he came.

It felt like his first time.

And then she came.

He collapsed on top of her, panting, exhausted, bewitched, _complete_.

They dozed.

When they were finally able to untangle themselves and sit up, it was already late afternoon. Kate ran her fingers through her hair, trying to separate the damp tangles. She leaned against him, planting a gentle kiss on his lips before standing up and reaching for his hand.

"I think we should bathe, don't you?"

* * *

If it wren't for the pruning of their fingers and the rapid cooling of the water, they could have stayed in the bathtub all night, folded in each others arms, insulated, protected, lulled into a tranquil stupor by the warm water, the soft bubbles, and each other. But, Castle still had a chapter to write, and now that he was newly inspired, had no excuse to _not_ write it. And, Kate _did_ have laundry to do, especially if she wanted clean underwear on Monday.

She finished one load of delicates, paid all of her bills, and managed to flip through three of the magazines stacked on her bookcase before exhaustion took hold and demanded she sleep. She slipped into her favorite comfortable nightshirt, washed her face, brushed her teeth, combed her hair, and then crawled beneath the covers.

In the darkness of her bedroom, her thoughts naturally carried her back to this afternoon and the frenzied, incredible, lovemaking, no, the frenzied, incredible _fucking_ they'd had. She would never tell him so, because he was already an egotistical jackass, _her _egotistical jackass, but a jackass nonetheless, but he was by far her greatest lover. He already knew, in the short time they'd been together, every inch of her, every need she had, every craving, desire, _passion_. He knew how to make her body respond, to coax her to the edge, keep her there, and then carry her over.

But as her mind traveled even further back, she had to acknowledge that her first real experience with someone who could expertly, flawlessly, play her body like an instrument, was with _her._

* * *

_Kate Beckett had only been on campus for a few months when she was invited by her friend Henry to a frat party. She arrived, not knowing anyone, not caring to know most of them, but not wanting to be "that" girl either, the girl who stands in the corner, behind the ficus, hoping no one would notice her. _

_She'd had robust, enriching friendships in high school, but college was another matter, and she was so far from home, it had been hard for her to make friends. So, attending this party was an attempt to at least branch out, increase her odds of meeting people, making friends, or at the very least, not sitting alone in her dorm room on a Saturday night._

_A red solo cup filled with cheap beer in hand, she wound her way through the sea of young co-ed bodies before finding a free space in which to stand and observe, ironically, next to a ficus plant. Henry hadn't arrived yet, and though some of the faces were familiar, she didn't really know anyone in the room. _

_And then she saw **her**. _

_The most striking, confident, shockingly beautiful person she'd ever before seen in her life. She had flawless olive toned skin, jet black hair that tumbled in careless curls around her shoulders and down her back, lips that were full, round, and rose colored, and eyes so black, so penetrating, you were convinced she could see clear through to your soul. And she was tall, as tall as Kate, which was refreshing, because, although Kate knew how to use her height to her advantage, especially with boys, and she enjoyed the unearned respect that came with it, she didn't always want to be the tallest girl in the room. _

_Kate couldn't tear her eyes away from the mesmerizing woman, who at the moment was conversing at ease and with great humor to a group of people who seemed to hang on her every word, as, Kate thought, they should._

_Kate was staring, and she knew it was rude, and conspicuous, but she couldn't help it. And, the other woman must have been somehow aware of Kate's singular attention, because she suddenly glanced up, looking around the room as though someone had just called her name, and then paused when her eyes landed on Kate's. She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling with good natured amusement. _

_Kate was immediately aroused, intrigued, intoxicated by this incredible woman's careless smile, the liberated way she carried herself, and she didn't really know why, and quite honestly, in that moment, that perfect moment, she didn't care why, either. She just wanted to figure out how to get their worlds to collide._

_She didn't have to wait long._

_Inexplicably, the dark haired beauty broke away from the group of people with whom she'd been conversing, and sauntered over to Kate, who was now absently holding her breath. _

"_Hello," She purred, with a voice like velvet._

_Hi," Kate replied, shyly glancing from beneath the fan of long lashes that framed her eyes. And in an act of impulsive bravery, she held out her hand, "I'm Kate. Kate Beckett." _

"_It's very nice to meet you, Kate Beckett. My name is Bette. Bette Porter. And, I have a feeling that this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."_

**Chapter Three is on it's way...**_  
_

_**Note: The character of Bette Porter does not belong to me. She is from the series the L Word and was created by Ilene Chaiken, with whom I am unaffiliated. I also realize that this technically makes this a crossover story, however, because the thrust of the story is Castle, I have chosen to NOT define it as a crossover. **_


	3. Chapter 3

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Three**

**By Dana Keylits**

Perched on the edge of her chair in front of the battered desk that sat in the middle of the bullpen, staring at the image on her computer screen, Kate struggled with feelings of guilt. In fact, her eyes kept darting around the room, making sure no one was watching what she was doing, especially not _him, _though as far as she knew, he was still at home.

But why the guilt? It's not like she had any intention of contacting Bette. She was just curious about the woman, her provocative pillow talk with Castle the other night sparking a renewed interest in her former college lover. No harm in Googling her, was there?

Kate continued to scroll down the search results, freezing when she stumbled across the headline:_ Bette Porter, former Dean of School of Arts at California University, to be incoming Director of New York's Faegre and Dukakis Arts Center._ Kate looked around, then clicked on the link.

_Press Release: Ms. Porter, former Director of the California Arts Center and Dean of School of Arts at California University, has accepted the position of Director of The Faegre and Dukakis Arts Center in lower Manhattan. Ms. Porter most recently was a partner and co-owner of the Wentworth-Porter Art Gallery in Los Angeles, CA._

_Ms. Porter is married to Tina Kennard, Chief Development Executive for Shaylin Studios, owned by philanthropist Peggy Peabody. The couple have two children, Angelica Porter-Kennard, and Melvin Porter-Kennard. _

She was in New York! Bette was _here._ _Whoa._

Kate clicked on the thumbnail of the picture that accompanied the press release, and a smiling, stunning, _confident_ looking Bette Porter smiled back. She looked exactly the same, the black hair, olive toned skin, bright white teeth, obsidian eyes, and flawless features, the only thing that seemed to change was her hair, which was shorter, and her clothes, which were more expensive.

She was about to click back to the results page, looking for a more recent article since this one was three years old, when she heard him approach.

Castle saw the screen before she had time to minimize it.

Her cheeks grew hot.

He stood behind her, a coffee in each hand, his eyes glued to the picture of Bette Porter on the computer screen. He frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Kate..."

She closed the browser and swiveled her chair to face him. She opened her mouth to explain, but then closed it again.

"Should I be worried about this? What are you doing?" He set the coffee roughly in front of her and then took his seat beside her desk. There was no evidence of the normal good humor with which he customarily greeted her, lines formed between his eyes, deep and troubled, as he searched her face for an explanation.

"Castle, It's no big deal."

He raised his eyebrows, "No big deal? I find you staring at a picture," He leaned closer, lowering his voice, "...of your former lover, and it's _no big deal_?"

She shook her head, glancing nervously around the bullpen, hoping no one could hear their conversation. "I, Castle, I was just curious about what she's been up to. I promise you, it's innocent."

She watched the muscles of his jaw clench, his piercing blue eyes study her face, searching for an answer. She knew this was going to be one of _those_ conversations.

And the twelfth precinct wasn't the place for it.

She rolled her chair closer to his, inconspicuously resting her hand on his knee, "It's nothing more than a passing curiosity. Really." She narrowed her eyes at him. He seemed unmoved. "Besides, I don't understand why you're so upset. A week ago you'd have been _begging_ me for a threesome!"

"That's when I thought all of this was just a _fantasy_." He hissed, taking a cautious sip of coffee before continuing, "Not as funny when I know it's real."

"Castle! It's _not_ real."

"It's real, it's not real, then it's real again. Now you're saying it's not? Why are you jerking me around?"

"I'm not. Look, I can't talk about this here. Can we just put a pin in it until later?" She leaned back, her elbow resting against the back of the chair. "What are you doing here, anyway? I don't have an active case right now."

"I just came by to bring you a coffee, I have a meeting uptown with my book agent."

Guilt popped up, waving at her, '_Yoo hoo! Remember me? Yeah, while you were looking up information about a former flame, HE was buying and bringing you coffee. Nice.' _

She lifted the cup and saluted him with it. "Thanks," She took a guilty sip, "That was really sweet."

He nodded, still frowning.

"Castle, I promise you, there's nothing going on. Okay? Please, can we can talk about it tonight? How about I stop by after work?"

He considered her, his expression softening. "Okay." He thumbed behind him, "I'd better go."

He patted the back of her hand as it rested on the desk, then stood up to leave. "Should I make dinner?"

"That'd be nice," she smiled. "Thanks."

Guilt was still hovering annoyingly over her desk, hands on hips, foot tapping against the floor. '_Tsk, tsk, tsk, and he's cooking for you, now, too! '_

"_Oh shut up!" Kate mumbled. _

He decided on something easy for dinner, baked ziti, salad, a french baguette and a bottle of chianti. He'd already started the chianti without her, feeling the need for it's lubricating effects.

When he got home from his meeting with Paula, he'd Googled Bette Porter. She was strikingly beautiful, he'd already known that from the grainy black and white photograph in Kate's loft, but she was oddly familiar, too, although he couldn't quite figure out why.

He was somewhat relieved to learn that she was married, to a woman of course, and had two kids. She was an incredibly accomplished woman, a mover and shaker in the art world, and Castle was surprised he'd never encountered her at any of the hundreds of fundraisers he'd attended. That she'd been in New York for only three years might explain it, but surely, their paths could have crossed at least once in that time. Or, maybe they had, and he just didn't know it.

She came through the door, using the key he'd given her weeks ago, dropping her bag and coat on the floor, toeing off her shoes before gratefully accepting the glass of wine he'd already poured for her. They kissed, a quick one, just a peck. It was weird between them, abnormally tense, as though both of them were afraid the subject they were about to approach was going to create a rift.

"It smells yummy, Castle."

"Baked ziti," He explained. "It'll be ready in about twenty minutes."

She nodded, rocking onto her heels, looking around, wondering if they should just dive right in with the topic of Bette Porter, or ease into it politely.

"So, how many times did the two of you have sex?"

Looked like they were diving right in.

She eyed him, considering her response, then crossed the room and lifted herself onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter, picking up a cracker and stacking it with a slice of the hard cheese Castle had set out for them. She took a bite, her other hand cupped below her chin to catch the crumbs. He sat beside her, patiently waiting for her to answer his question.

She took a sip of the wine, then met his gaze. "More than once," She replied, "But it was a brief affair."

He drank from his own wine goblet, "Define brief."

"Two weeks."

He nodded. "That's longer than I'd imagined."

Kate narrowed her eyes, the lines between them prominently visible. "Castle, do you have a problem with it? I mean, in general?"

"No, no, of course not." He replied, raising his shoulders defensively, "I just didn't know. Kate, I didn't know you..." He struggled to find the right words. "Were there other women?"

"No."

"No?"

"No, Castle. Just her."

"So, you're not..."

She raised her eyebrows, "A lesbian?"

"No. I _know_ you're not a lesbian," He replied, his eyes shifting in the direction of the bedroom. "I mean, do you consider yourself to be," He paused, "...bisexual?"

"Would it bother you if I were?"

He thought for a minute. Honesty. He wanted this to be all about honesty, so he told the truth. "I have to admit, that yes, it might."

"Why?"

"I don't know. I suppose insecurity."

"Insecurity?"

"Yeah, it's bad enough I have to compete with all of the men you might meet, but throw in all of the women..."

She chuckled, "Castle. I'm not bisexual. I thought for awhile that I was, but because I never repeated that experience, never felt that way about any other woman, I decided it would be inauthentic to identify myself as such."

"Why did it only last two weeks?"

She thought for a minute, sipping her wine, helping herself to another cracker topped with the pungent cheese. "I suppose it ended because I _wasn't _a lesbian or bisexual." He looked puzzled. "It was a brief, specific time in my life. Any other night, any other place, it might not have happened."

"Why do you think it happened that night?"

"I was open to it. I was lonely, I was intrigued by her, in an odd way, I wanted to _be_ her. Or, at least, be just _like_ her. And, she was, she was, mesmerizing. Like Svengali, only, not evil" She grinned.

He opened his mouth to reply when the timer on the oven interrupted them.

They ate in silence, at first, savoring the spicy flavor of the ziti, the bread melting in their mouths, the zesty kick in the homemade italian salad dressing.

"God, Castle. This is fantastic."

"I'm glad you like it." He held out his hand to her, palm up, and she easily slid hers onto it, a familiar gesture for them now. They leaned in and kissed, still tentatively, but with sincere affection.

"Kate, I'm sorry, if I, overreacted."

"It's okay, Castle." She squeezed his hand. "I was thinking about it all afternoon. And, if I'm being honest with myself, I'm sure I wouldn't like it if I caught you looking up an old girlfriend on the internet."

He nodded, ready to make a sarcastic quip about the things he _had_ looked up on the internet, but decided it wasn't the right mood.

They returned to their food, dropping the subject of Bette Porter for the time being, and falling into an easy, familiar, playful banter.

When they were finished eating, Kate filled the sink with warm soapy water and dropped their dishes into it, rinsing them off and then placing them in the dishwasher. Castle put the rest of the baked ziti into a Tupperware bowl, and added the casserole dish to the water, along with the serving dishes and utensils.

Leaning against the sink, her hands immersed in the tepid water, Kate used the soft polyester sponge to wipe the inside of the salad bowl, her hands carving a path through the bubbles, coercing the water into swirling counter-clockwise whirlpools.

He quietly approached her, pressing his front to her back, his hands meandering around her shoulders, sliding down her arms to couple with her hands in the warm, soapy water. "Can I help?" He whispered, his breath hot on her ear, smelling deliciously like vanilla, and wine, and _him._

She paused, "Mmm hmm", leaning into him, her heart quickening, her lips slightly parting, an intoxicated sigh tumbling past them. She closed her eyes.

Then she opened them. "When is Martha getting home?"

"She's not," He whispered, pressing his lips against her soft, pillowy hair, "She's at the Hampton's this week."

Kate smiled. _Good._

They wordlessly scrubbed away the remnants of their nights meal, their hands moving in near perfect synchronicity. Kate's eyes fluttered shut, _What he does to me._ She thought. _Even when we're washing the fucking dishes, what he does to me._

She steadied herself, slowly exhaling, _breathe in, breath out,_ she reminded herself, as their hands continued their slow, seductive waltz in the scalding water. _Just breathe in, then breathe out._

Castle swayed against her, he used one soapy hand to sweep her long chestnut hair from her neck, a tiny river of water tickling her skin as it traveled haphazardly down her back, to gently kiss her, his lips following an invisible predetermined path, her body quivering in response.

All of the air in her lungs escaped in one slow, vanquished, sigh, and she had to grip the counter ever tighter to save her balance.

_Breathe in, then breath out. _

He lifted both hands out of the water and placed them softly against her abdomen, as his lips continued to nuzzle her neck, the water dampening his hands, now soaking through her thin cotton t-shirt, streaming down her flesh, leaving a dense field of goosebumps in it's wake.

_His hands. _

He pulled her against him as he nibbled her earlobe_,_ she braced her hands on the edge of the sink, rolling her head against his shoulder, craning her neck until his warm wanting mouth could cover hers, their tongues meeting, swirling, exploring curiously in an unhurried, sweet ballet. She moaned with absolute satisfaction into his mouth.

_His mouth. God, his mouth. _

Their lips parted, she rolled her head forward again as his hands traveled to her breasts, kneading, massaging, his thumb toying with her nipples over the fabric of her clothing, while she held steady to the sink lest her legs give out and she collapse to the floor, a puddle of humming, wanting, _need_.

He whispered in her ear, "I"m so glad you came over tonight,"

She gasped when his tongue darted inside her ear, unleashing thousands of tiny shivers in a feverish race down her spine. More air escaping her lungs in a _long_, carnal, moan.

A familiar tingling between her legs.

Their bodies had discovered a comfortable vibration, he moved, she counter-moved, he breathed in, she breathed out, he pressed forward, she leaned backwards, a sigh tumbled past her lips, a gasp drawn in through his.

His hands traveled again, exploring her shapely body, one moved up to her long Audrey Hepburnesque neck, his fingers fanning out as he guided her head back for another deep, slow kiss. The other slid from her breast, to strum her delicate ribcage, snaking it's way over the gentle slope of her abdomen before finally pausing when it reached between her legs. Her thighs involuntarily parted to give him passage.

_Breathe in, then breathe out._

She broke away from his kiss, looking down at her hands as they gripped the counter in front of her, her caramel hair tumbling forward, curtaining her face, her body responding to what his hand was doing. She rocked her hips against him.

Almost inaudibly, she whispered in reply, "I'm glad I came over, too." Her lips curved as she felt him hard against the small of her back. _He's ready. _

She was ready too, and with one commanding hand, she unbuttoned her jeans, opening the zipper, then greedily guided his hand beneath the fabric. She threw her head back against his chest when his fingers slipped between the wet folds and he circled her clit, abruptly filling her with two long, eager, fingers.

_Breathe fucking in, then breathe fucking out._

He took his time, torturing her with his mercurial touch, coaxing her towards the edge, only to draw her back, then slowly propelling her forward again, then again pulling her away. She writhed against him, her body screaming for release.

"_Apples_," She whispered.

He smiled, then finally gave her what she wanted, holding her tightly, his hand masterfully escorting her body to sweet, blessed climax. Every part of her vibrated with the spasms radiating from her center. She lost all sense of time and space, and _purpose. _Her body no longer required food, or water, oxygen or rest. It only required _him_, his hands, his fingers, his lips, his...

She reached behind her and cupped him, he was hard, ready, eager. She spun around, her fingers flying over the button and zipper of his jeans, freeing him from his denim captivity. She shoved her own jeans and panties down to the floor, stepping out of them before wrapping her right leg around his left. She braced one hand behind her on the sink, using it to raise herself on the counters edge, then wrapped both legs around him. She used her other hand to guide him, coaxing him towards her until he slowly, carefully, inched his way _inside_ of her. She held on for dear life, afraid she would shatter into a million jagged pieces.

One hand braced on the sinks edge behind her, supporting the weight of her body on the counter, the other clinging desperately around his neck, she rocked her hips against him, matching his cadence in a frenzied, untrained tango.

She wasn't expecting to orgasm again, but she did. Suddenly, in a flurry, it startled her with it's stealth-like, though wholly welcomed, arrival. He paused, letting the waves of pleasure that were pitching her body forward recede before he picked up his rhythm again.

"Breathe, Kate," He gently whispered, rubbing her back as if urging her lungs to wake up from their paralyzed stupor. She exhaled deeply, then filled her lungs with air.

_Right. Breathe in, then breathe out._

Before long, he was focusing on his own building orgasm. She had both hands around his neck now, her hips moving in concert with his, her muscles gripping him tightly as he moved rapidly in and out of her, urging him towards the inevitable corporal ecstasy he was desperately seeking.

He cried out.

"Kate!"

_Breathe in, then breathe out._

"Kate!"

He came inside of her, pumping, thrusting, rocking until the orgasm subsided. And then he _remained_ inside of her, both of them panting, whirling, clutching each other for balance, until eventually, they were able to catch their breath and safely, though shakily, stand upright.

Dazed, spent, consumed with the purest gratification, they pulled the plug on the drain, shut off the lights, gathered up their clothing and headed to the bedroom. There was no need to invite, or request; she was spending the night.

Later, warm in bed, their naked satisfied bodies tangled together beneath the covers as they drifted towards sleep, he asked her another question.

"Did _she_ do _that_ for you?"

Kate eyed him suspiciously. "What do you mean by _that_?"

"You know. Did she," His eyebrows raised with curiosity, "..._fuck_ you?"

She thought about it for the briefest of moments before answering confidently. "Oh, yes, Castle. She _fucked_ me."

**Disclaimer: The characters of Bette Porter, Tina Kennard, Angelica Porter-Kennard, Peggy Peabody and related settings do not belong to me but to Ilene Chaiken. I have only invited them out to play and have no intent to infringe upon their copyright. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Four**

**By Dana Keylits**

**Disclaimer: The character of Bette Porter does not belong to me, she belongs to Ilene Chaiken, no infringement intended, blah, blah, blah.**

**Warning: this chapter is pure porn. I didn't intend for it to be, but woke up with this in my head, and well, that's how it goes sometimes. The story wants what the story wants, right?**

* * *

**Stanford University, 12:47 a.m., November 17, 1999**

She's standing behind me as I stand nervously in front of her goose-down covered queen-sized bed. The white duvet is huge and she has at least half a dozen pillows in various sizes and shapes that splash a palette of color across the stark backdrop of the fluffy comforter, like paint splashed haphazardly on a blank canvas. It is warm and inviting, soft, like sleeping on a cloud.

I glance around the apartment and realize the whole _place_ looks this way, artfully decorated, sensual, every piece, every item of furniture, appears to be intimately tied to who Bette Porter is.

A warm amber glow bounces off the walls like candlelight, and although it is a crappy little loft with chipped paint and rusty fixtures, and barely enough room to take more than a dozen steps end-to-end, Bette has transformed it into a work of art, expertly using every inch of space to express who she is and what she likes.

I am stunned by it's complex beauty, and rather embarrassed now by my feeble attempts to decorate the cinder-blocked ten-by-ten dorm room I currently, laughingly, call home. I also suddenly become keenly aware of the differences in our ages. She is clearly older than me, more worldly, certainly more experienced in matters of love, or _lust,_ if that's all that this is, and I suspect, at least for her, that it is.

Lust, I mean. Not love.

I am about to change my mind, go home to my tiny, amateurishly decorated dorm room, and resume the life of a normal almost-nineteen year-old college freshman, when I sense her behind me and my thoughts hang frozen in the air like a text bubble from the Sunday morning comics. I cannot move, I cannot think, I can barely _breathe_.

She isn't touching me, yet, but she's _right_ there, behind me, I know that if I turn around, our bodies will inevitably connect and the thought, the mere _prospect_ of that, sends thousands of tiny shivers in a foot race down my spine.

I lick my lips and anxiously glance down at my hands as they hang tightly folded in front of me, a curtain of hair partially covers my face, allowing me to temporarily hide from her.

I have to remember to breathe. It seems silly that I need to remind myself to do something my body has instinctively known how to do since coming from my mother's womb, but, right now, my body isn't responsive to the normal cues of my brain. Right now, my body is responsive only to _her._

And, she has stolen my breath.

_Breathe, Kate. Breath in, and then breathe out_.

She steps closer to me, her body barely coming into contact with mine. She is touching my hair, I raise my head and turn it just slightly so I can see her from the corner of my eye. She sweeps my long locks away to expose my neck, and then dips her head seductively, softly brushing her lips over my goose-bumped flesh.

Her kisses grow bolder, harder, she uses her tongue to lick me, her teeth to nip at my earlobe.

I hear a hissing noise and wonder what it is before I realize it's coming from me, it is my life's breath steadily escaping my lungs, and so I gasp for air, chastising my brain that it must remember to _breathe_.

She has placed one hand on my back, between my shoulder blades, the other she rests on my shoulder, sliding it forward until she pauses at my collarbone. Her lips against my skin, nipping, licking, kissing, her breath warm and lusty, she purrs in my ear.

She slowly moves her hand lower, her fingers frolicking between my breasts, like children chasing each other in a schoolyard, before stopping at my abdomen, the tip of her middle finger slipping just slightly beneath the waistband of my jeans.

I flinch, not from pain, but from the most intense shockwave of pleasure I've ever known, and I wonder how I have never felt this way before, how did I not even know that I _could_ feel this way? This tingly, excited, unexpected way?

I don't know how much longer I can stay upright, my whole body is screaming, throbbing, _humming_ in response to her hands, just her _hands,_ and I am now sure that my knees are going to give out, and at any moment I will collapse onto the nicked and battered hardwood floor, a puddle of insatiable, quivering _need_.

Her hand finds me between my legs, she pauses, cupping me for just the briefest of moments, before snaking her hand away. My hips chase after her involuntarily and she softly giggles into my ear.

I have never, _ever_, been touched like that before, been made to feel like every nerve ending in my body was focused on only one goal, on one wet, trembling _part_ of me.

It's true, I haven't been with a lot of boys, a lot of _men, _but those I have been with, have never touched me like _that._

Both hands are around me now, and she's toying with the buttons of my oxford shirt. She has moved her lips to the other side of my neck, her fingers having left a trail of gooseflesh in their wake as they swept my hair to the side providing access for her mouth.

My body responds, pleasure radiating from every spot where _her_ lips meet _my_ skin. I feel dizzy, faint, and I am suddenly very afraid that I might actually fall to the floor.

_Take a deep, long breath, Kate._ _Breathe in, then breathe out. _

I don't even remember her unbuttoning my shirt, but suddenly it's open and she's pushed it roughly off my shoulders and onto the floor where it now lays as evidence of our growing desire, and her hands are on my belly, caressing my skin, snaking their way up my flesh until they palm my breasts, squeezing them, her thumb and forefingers pulling roughly at my nipples, even through the flimsy fabric of my bra.

I am losing my footing, and I lean into her, my head on her shoulder, she supports my weight, her lips still hot and wet against my neck, my jaw, my cheeks.

Before I comprehend what she's done, the hand at my waistband slips between my clothing and skin. She is _there_ now. Her fingers expertly exploring, teasing, coaxing my body to respond. And it _does, _grinding into her, pulsing, vibrating, _wanting._

"You're so _wet_, Kate." She hisses into my ear with that velvety voice of hers that sends sparks of electricity through my foggy, feeble brain.

I can no longer stand, so I reach above and behind me, my hands finding her curly hair and I twist my head around so my lips can find hers and we join in a deep, soulful, otherworldly kiss. I turn my body and raise my arms to rest them on her shoulders as my fingers continue to tangle with her dark unruly hair.

We are front to front now, and she has inexplicably kept her hand on me, sliding _into _me, her long, curious fingers working like witchcraft to bring me to the edge.

There are no words that exist that can describe what my body is experiencing, nothing in the universe with which to compare it to, no meaning, colloquial or otherwise, that can completely convey the force with which I am now affected by _her._

My knees finally _do_ give out, as I knew they would, and she gracefully guides me onto the bed, which is as much like a cloud as I'd imagined it. She crawls like a lioness over my body, her shirt falls open, she must have unbuttoned it at some point, and I can see her breasts, she isn't wearing a bra, I instinctively lick my lips, wanting nothing more than to know the feel of her nipples in my mouth.

As though reading my mind, she slides her body over mine, grinding her hips against my aching sex before gliding up so that one breast is only inches from my face. I rise up and take her into my mouth, my eyes fluttering shut at the honey, vanilla taste of her.

I hear her sigh and am intrigued that I am able to make _her_ respond to _my_ touch. It feels thrilling, empowering, just, _fucking _hot. Her whole body is writhing and when I open my eyes I see that she has a hand down _her_ pants now. I reach up, placing my hand over the fabric of her dark pants, over her hand, seeking permission to go there.

She looks into my eyes, and I forget to breathe again. I can see it in the corners there, her desire for me, her need, and it makes me crazy. I part my lips to speak but she covers them with her mouth, her tongue darting past my lips to find mine and we lazily dance that way.

Then we part and she is searching my face. "Are you sure?" She asks, knowing I've never been with a woman, knowing that touching her there might not be so easy for me.

I nod.

She rises up, unbuttoning her pants and tugging at the zipper, then she guides my hand beneath her panties, and I can feel her, warm, and wet, and she pulses against my hand.

I have felt myself before, many times before, and brought myself to orgasm, but _she_ doesn't feel like _that._

I look into her eyes, and she must see the uncertainty there, because she places her hand over mine and then rocks her hips against me. "Like this," she whispers.

And I use my hand as she has taught me, and her head is thrown back, her hips rocking against me, a satisfied sigh tumbling from her pouty full lips. It is thrilling, exciting, a _powerful_ feeling to bring someone pleasure in that way. I've not had that with men, at least not yet, and it emboldens me.

She places one hand at my breast, shoving my bra aside so she can massage the skin, tease the nipple. I feel another shockwave of pleasure radiate through me, and I have to force myself to focus on _her_.

We find a rhythm, she and I, and soon her breathing betrays the building tension between her legs until she crescendo's with a throaty "Ohhhh."

She spasms against my hand and I hold it there, pressing against her until the waves stop, fully cognizant of the cause-effect relationship that _her_ orgasm is having on the increasing dampness between _my_ legs.

She looks down at me and smiles, a glimmer of white teeth peeking from between her rose colored lips. "That was perfect, Kate."

Velvet. Her voice is like velvet.

Her lips on mine, her tongue deep into my mouth, her body crushing me. She reaches for the button on my jeans and slips it through the companion opening. "Now, lets see what _I_ can do for _you._"

I glance over at the digital clock by her bed. It's well past midnight.

It's my birthday now, and I think Bette Porter is about to give me one of the most memorable gifts I will ever receive.

* * *

**New York, 2:47 a.m., November 13, 2012**

Kate wakes up from her dream feeling lusty and disoriented. She reaches for the place between her legs and palms herself, hoping to quiet the screaming desire there. She glances over at Castle who is sound asleep.

But, she _needs_ him.

So, she quietly slips out of the nightshirt she keeps at his place now, and presses her naked body against his boxer-clad form. He has his back to her. She reaches around with her hand and rubs his chest, her lips against his ear, "Castle."

He stirs, but does not wake.

"Castle," She moves her hand to reach for him, pulling his boxers down and taking him into her hand.

He stirs again, this time his eyes flutter open and he glances down, surprised to find _her. _ _There._

He rolls onto his back, "Kate."

She climbs on top of him, straddling him, gently placing one finger over his confused lips in a _don't talk_ gesture. She strokes him until he's hard, which doesn't take long, and then she raises herself up, hovering over him, her body ablaze in the moonlight, her crimson red nipples looking positively like strawberry gumdrops, a commanding, empowered expression in the corners of her eyes.

She teases him, brushing herself against the tip of him, sinking slightly down, only to pull up again.

She delights in the series of gasps that come from his throat.

Emboldened by his immediate shattered response to the ministrations of her body, she lowers herself around him, taking him fully and completely into her, then she rises up and does it again. And then, again.

Her body shudders, _this_ is what she woke up for, what she woke up _needing. _She tosses her head back, her caramel hair tumbling in soft waves around her slender shoulders

Her palms against his chest, his arms limp at his side, she rocks back and forth in a slow, easy, sensual waltz of a sex dance.

She leans forward and crushes her mouth on his, her tongue desperately searching, exploring. In a fit of manic _want, _unabashed _need,_ she bites his bottom lip, hard, he winces. She giggles, then does it again. He palms her breasts, squeezing them in a familiar way, pinching her already hardened nipples.

They are close, both of them, so close. The air around them charged, electric, swirling above them like a cyclone, until, in a fevered, impassioned flurry of basic, primal, indulgence, they cry out simultaneously, their mutual orgasms feeding, furthering, liberating each other.

She keeps him inside of her, even after they've come, because she doesn't want to move, doesn't want to breathe, or fight, or open her eyes. She just wants _this._ This totally organic feeling of authority that _her_ quivering flesh on top of _his_ has produced.

It was Bette who had taught her that. She'd taught Kate that she didn't have to be a passive participant in lovemaking, that she could take control of her body and how it responded, how it _moved, _what it _felt_. Bette had taught her that orgasm wasn't the ultimate goal, but the feeling of empowerment, of satisfaction, love or lust (depending on who you were with), and absolute _authority_ over your body and responses, that _they_ were the ultimate goal. Bringing someone to orgasm, including herself, was just one way of achieving that.

She nuzzles his neck, her hair partially covering his face, their sweat mingling, his hands tracing the lines and curves of her body as it continues to lay on top of his.

Reluctantly, she pulls away from him, using her hand to guide him out of her, and lays next to him beneath the covers. Her leg carelessly draped over his.

A long, slow, _satisfied_ sigh spills over her lips and she closes her eyes as her head rests against his chest, his arms curved around and beneath her protectively.

He kisses her forehead. "What do I have to thank for _that? _

She smiles.

_Bette Porter, Castle. _She thinks. _You have Bette Porter to thank for that._

But, not wanting to open that can of worms, Instead, she wiggles against him, "I just," pausing, "I just _wanted_ you."

He moans, smiling, closing his eyes.

They drift off together.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Passions Past**_

_**Chapter Five**_

_**By Dana Keylits**_

**A/N: Thank you so much to all of the readers who have shared their feedback. It is appreciated, truly. A BIG thank you to Sunshine, you know who you are, for helping me through my uncertainty! **

**There has been some discussion about Kate's commitment to Castle in this story, and whether she is just using him. For those of you who have those questions, I ask you to just hang on, this ride may be bumpy, but I think you'll like how it ends.**

**Bette isn't mine, she's Ilene Chaiken's, I'm just borrowing her for my own tawdry pleasure! **

* * *

_She wiggles against him, "I just," pausing, "I just wanted you."_

It wasn't a lie, either. She _did_ just_ want _him.

So, why was she laying here in his bed feeling guilty? Okay, yeah, she'd dreamt about Bette Porter. So what? Was she the first woman to ever have a sex dream about someone other than her partner?

Was she?

_Oh, but you had more than a sex dream, Kate. _Her new nemesis, guilt, chided her._You had a sex dream _memory_! And, it got you hot! _

She rolled over, sighing. _So what if it got me hot? It got me hot for _him_! Not _her_! _She fought back.

_Did it? Are you being honest with yourself? _Guilt stood there, her lips pursed, her hands on her hips, her toes tap tap tapping the floor.

_Oh, fuck you! _Kate thought, swatting at the air with her hand.

"You okay?"

Startled, her eyes darted to the source of the question and she gasped. He was standing there, a towel held loosely in his hands, rubbing the remnants of the hot shower from his chest, the rest of him deliciously naked. Her eyes instinctively fell to the place between his legs, strategically, but barely, covered by the white fluffy towel.

"Ah, yeah." She said, the familiar stirring between her legs making an unexpected appearance. "Why don't you come over here?" She leaned back against the pillows, the covers artfully, and innocently, falling from her chest, revealing her naked breasts.

He grinned, growling, laughing. "I don't think so, Kate." He glanced at the clock on the bedside table. "You know I have to leave in twenty minutes. No time for..." He pointed at her, motioning his finger along her body, "...that!"

She stretched, raising her arms above her head, arching her back. "You sure?"

He chucked again, desire unfolding in the corners of his eyes. "I'm, ah, sure."

The towel in front of him moved. Only, his _hands_ hadn't.

She arched an eyebrow, a sultry grin on her face. "Five minutes, Castle." She threw back the covers, revealing her naked body. "That's all we need!"

He paused, his eyes shining, lips curving, then he dropped the towel to the floor and went to her.

"Okay, five minutes," he agreed, crawling on top of her, ready, eager, _aroused_, their lips meeting in a frantic kiss.

* * *

For the next six weeks, Bette Porter didn't come up again. Kate hadn't even really thought about her

Much.

And, Castle, having asked every question he could think of about Kate's past affair with Bette, seemed satisfied with her answers and was no longer titillated by the story.

Kate and the boys had caught a weird case, and because of it, she'd been working late most nights. Castle was on a tri-state book tour for _Frozen Heat_, which meant they hadn't seen each other, in or out of the precinct, in more than eight days. So, when Castle called to say he was going to be home that night, Kate was beyond thrilled.

That is, until she'd learned that he had been talked into attending a fundraising gala at the New York library.

"Come with me, Kate. It'll be fun!" He'd begged over the phone while he sat at the airport waiting for his puddle jumper flight back to New York.

"I don't think the definition of "fun" includes rubbing shoulders with a bunch of..."

"Hey, now. Be careful." He'd cautioned.

"Sorry."

"Please? I don't want to have to wait to see you until tomorrow. We'll go, make an appearance, do our due diligence, then leave. Okay?"

"Ugh."

"Plus, we'll get all dressed up. That's always fun, right?"

She rolled her eyes.

"You're rolling your eyes at me right now, aren't you?"

She'd smiled. He knew her well.

* * *

She'd had plans with Lanie, so when she called the ME to cancel, Lanie wasn't ready to let her off the hook so easily.

"You're gonna ditch me for writer boy?"

"Lanie," Kate sighed, feeling terribly guilty.

"I'm just messing with you, Kate." She'd joked over the phone. "But, let me at least come over and help you pick out your dress!"

They'd settled on the black one, and now Lanie was helping Kate decide what to do with her hair.

"What time do you have to be there?" Lanie asked, sipping from the wine glass Kate had shoved into her hands as soon as she'd stepped through the threshold of the detectives apartment.

"About an hour and a half," Kate replied, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. "C'mon, let's have a snack. I'm just going to leave my hair down. I think he likes it better that way, anyway" Kate stated, grabbling Lanie's hand and towing her to the kitchen.

She cut up some hard cheese, put out crackers, crusty bread, hummus, and fruit, and for good measure threw a few pieces of Dove dark chocolate on the table. They re-filled their wine glasses and sat at in the tiny dining room, nibbling on the food.

Lanie could sense something was on Kate's mind, but she just waited. Sitting back, enjoying her wine, her food, Kate's discomfort.

But, finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "What."

Kate looked up, startled. "Huh?"

"What?" Lanie repeated. "What is going on behind the Christmas lights, Kate?"

Kate made a face, "Nothing..."

Lanie gave her _the_ look.

"I, it's, Lanie, it's nothing."

"Girl, when are you going to realize that you don't have to hide _anything_ from me?"

Kate swirled the wine in her glass, coercing the liquid into tiny rapid clockwise whirlpools.

She sighed. "Remember that night at The Old Haunt? When I, ah, kissed you?"

Lanie raised both eyebrows. "Yeeeaaahhhh." She replied, squinting her eyes at Kate, wondering where this was going.

"I, um, well," She paused, "...you weren't wrong."

Lanie just stared. At first. But then, she remembered, and her eyes grew wide. "Reeeaaallly?" She exclaimed, grabbing her glass and taking a long, generous drink of wine.

"Oh, god, Lanie, does that freak you out?!" Kate asked, worry lines forming between her eyes.

Lanie threw her head back, "Girl? No! Don't be stupid. Now, tell me everything." She leaned forward, a curious grin on her face.

Kate spilled her guts, telling Lanie every sordid detail about her brief affair with Bette Porter, and the confusion she was now feeling at the reemergence of some of those old feelings.

"Why are you even worrying about this, Kate?"

"I don't know. It's just, I haven't thought about her in _years_, Lanie. And now, all of a sudden, she keeps popping up in my mind." Kate rested her elbow against the back of the chair and bit the inside of her lip. "I mean, what does that even fucking _mean_?"

"Girl? Who knows! But, why does it matter?" Lanie held up a palm when Kate opened her mouth to protest.

"Do you love Castle?"

"Yes, of course, but..."

"And does he love you?"

"Yes, I think so. I mean, he's said it."

"Are you having great sex?"

Kate blushed, "Yes!" _Really great sex,_ she thought.

"Do you find him sexy? Attractive?"

Kate made a face, "Of course. I always have." Kate admitted.

"Then _why_ are you borrowing trouble?"

"I," Kate thought. "I don't know. I'm just, I"m confused by it."

Lanie leaned forward, placing her hand against the detectives elbow. "Kate. Are you wanting to start something up with this Bette chicky?"

Kate frowned, her head jerking back, "No. Of course not."

"Then what the hell are you doing? Don't worry about it so much. There is probably some deep-seeded reason you're thinking about her, but it doesn't have to _mean_ anything, Kate."

"But..."

"Tell your damn shrink about it, will ya? And in the meantime, let's get you ready for the ball." Looking around, "where the hell are your glass slippers?"

Kate smirked, "So, what, you're the freakin' fairy godmother now?"

"Yes. And let's get you ready before your damn carriage turns into a pumpkin!"

* * *

He paced the crowded lobby of the New York library waiting for her to show. Glancing at his watch, he noted that she was only ten minutes late. Still, that was ten minutes they could have been using to schmooze, which meant they now had to _stay_ ten minutes longer.

He was about to turn and pace back the way he'd just come when he caught sight of her. He froze.

She took his breath away. Literally.

The black dress hugged every delicious bend and curve of her body, with a plunging neckline that highlighted the shape and slope of her delightfully perfect breasts. His eyes darted to the spot on her chest where her scar should be, she'd covered it expertly with makeup.

She'd let her hair hang loose around her shoulders, which was unusual, because normally when she wore a formal gown, she'd swept her hair up. But tonight, tonight it framed her face like a caramel colored aura. And, it looked...extraordinary.

"You look, wow, you look stunning." He leaned in and kissed her chastely on the cheek, afraid that if he tried to claim her lips, he wouldn't be able to take responsibility for what happened next.

She blushed, glancing up at him from beneath the fan of long lashes that framed her hazel-green eyes. "Thank you, Castle. You look pretty damn good, yourself." She let her hand mischievously slide along his backside as they embraced.

He coughed, flinching before pulling away. A familiar tugging entertaining his groin.

He straightened his bow-tie then smoothed out the pockets of his black tux. "Thanks." He held out his arm, a radiant smile spreading across his boyish features "Ready?"

She slipped her arm through his, smiling adoringly up at him, "Ready."

They didn't realize, as they walked happily arm in arm through the main lobby, that a pair of obsidian eyes were following them.

Obsidian eyes that belonged to none other than Bette Porter.


	6. Chapter 6

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Six**

**By Dana Keylits**

**A/N: Disclaimer: The characters of Bette Porter Angelica Porter Kennard, and Tina Kennard are not mine. I'm borrowing them from Ilene Chaiken, their creator.**

**A big thank you to KJ for your constant reassurance that I need to tell the story the way I've envisioned it. I believe I've done that here...so let the chips fall where they may. **

**Buckle your seat belts...**

* * *

Bette Porter watched the pair ascend the stairs and enter the gala. By the lean of her into him, their arms entwined, the way their bodies tilted towards each other, she could tell they were lovers.

While she hadn't seen Kate Beckett in _years, _she couldn't say the same thing about her _thoughts_ of Kate Beckett. Because from time to time, especially when she was estranged from Tina, she'd remembered their brief affair with an indelible fondness.

It had only lasted two weeks, but, wow, what a two weeks it had been.

* * *

**Stanford University, November, 1999**

"Have you ever been tied up, Kate?" Bette purred seductively, as she crawled up Kate's naked body like a lioness assessing her prey, stopping only when their lips met in a slow, tantalizing kiss.

Briefly parting, "Um, no." Kate replied, her enchanting hazel eyes meeting Bette's, wide-eyed with sexual wonder.

Bette raised an eyebrow, "Would you _like_ to?"

"I, ah..." Before she could answer, Bette's mouth was on hers again, her tongue darting past Kate's lips, engaging her in a sweet, seductive, waltz. Bette felt feverish, muzzy, out of control. And, she loved it. She relished it, it made her feel desired, intrepid, empowered and dangerous, and for the first time since leaving Yale to teach at Stanford, she felt _alive_.

Bette stretched so the full expanse of her naked body covered the full expanse of Kate's, their breasts crushing against each other, their legs intertwined. Their bodies rocking, slowly, tortuously, measured against some unseen, unheard metronome.

"Okay," Kate whispered, feverishly, into Bette's ear, "Okay, tie me up."

Bette stopped, smiling, a glistening row of white teeth peeking from beneath her crimson lips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Bette slid along the sheets until she could reach the top drawer of the bedside table. She returned to Kate with a handful of silken scarves. "Scoot," she instructed, pushing Kate's body to the middle of the bed. "I'm going to tie you up, Kate. Tight. And then?" Bette smiled the smile of the devil, "...I'm going to _fuck_ you."

She relished the modest gasp that fell from Kate's lips, the mix of terror and excitement that skittered across her face, the wiggling of her hips beneath her.

This was going to be _fun_.

* * *

**Present Day, New York**

"Okay, crisis averted, babysitter got Angie to sleep." Tina explained, tossing her phone into her purse. When Bette didn't respond she reached out, tapping the other woman's wrist. "Bette?"

"What? Oh, okay. Good. Shall we go in?"

"What's going on?" Tina asked, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, blowing a strand of her shoulder length blonde hair from her eyes.

Bette turned to face Tina, biting her bottom lip. "I just saw someone from my past."

"Who?" Tina asked, lines forming between her eyes.

"Her name is Kate Beckett, you don't know her." Bette glanced over her shoulder where Kate and the man she was attached to had gone, "We kind of had a fling when I was at Stanford."

Tina raised an eyebrow, "Ah."

Bette made a face, "Come on, let's get something to drink."

When they entered the grand hall, Bette scanned the room looking for Kate, her eyes finally landing on the stunning, sensual woman as she was dancing with her, Bette had to admit, ruggedly handsome, date.

"I'll get us some drinks," Tina offered, gently nudging Bette's elbow.

Bette smiled at her wife, "Okay, thank you." Her eyes returning to stare at Kate.

Kate had obviously grown into herself. She was definitely not the awkward, out of place, college freshman Bette had seduced so long ago. She was a stunning, self-possessed woman who appeared to be _very_ comfortable in her own body.

Bette had known right away that Kate was something extraordinary, keenly intelligent, curious, kind, and sensual, sexy, even though kate _herself_ didn't know it.

She knew it now, it appeared. You don't carry yourself like _that, _in a _dress_ like that, if you don't know how extraordinary you are.

As if she could feel a pair of eyes upon her, Kate glanced around the room, turning her head in Bette's direction, her face freezing into a look of naked shock when their eyes met and locked.

Bette smiled.

Kate blinked.

* * *

"Castle!" She hissed.

He jerked back, surprised at the sudden tension in her body. "What? What is it?"

"Castle, she's _here_." Kate whispered, her eyes never leaving Bette's.

He looked around, confused. "Who's here?"

She leaned into his ear, "_Her. _Bette Porter."

His head jerked back meeting her eyes. "Bette Porter? Your ex?" He resumed his visual search around the room until he found her.

"Whoa," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Kate whispered, closing her eyes, her mind drifting back in time to the fourteen days she'd spent in Bette Porters bed. Fourteen exhilarating, exhausting, liberating, terrifying days, that she will _never_ forget.

Fourteen days that had left an indelible mark on Kate's life.

When, weeks before, she'd shared that part of herself with Castle, she had never imagined that Bette Porter would, quite literally, come dancing back into her life.

She held on desperately to Castle, leaning into him to support her as though he were a lifeline, which he was. She had so many feelings coursing through her body like the blood rushing through her veins, she was unable to name them all. Unable to claim them, too. Why was this so hard? Why was she so confused? And, what did it mean about her feelings for _him? _

She loved him. She was sure of it. And, she loved _being_ with him. So, why was she all of a sudden so...what was she? She didn't even know.

"Hey." Castle jostled her, "Are you okay?"

"I'm ah," She nervously met his gaze, "I'm fine, Castle. Just a little thrown at seeing her after all these years."

He nodded, guiding her body languidly along the dance floor, inching their way towards its edge in anticipation of the break in the music. "We should go say hello," he suggested.

Her body stiffened, "No, I don't think - "

"Kate, she's seen you. You have to say hello." He ducked his head to look more closely at her, "What is going on?"

She exhaled, whispering, feeling it a shameful admission. "I don't...know."

Now it was _his_ body that stiffened, and he let go of her. She looked up at him, startled. His jaw was set, eyes blazing. "What the hell is going on, Kate?"

Her mouth fell open, she could see the hurt in his eyes. "God, Castle. No, it's nothing. It's - " She reached for his hand and led him across the room, to the other side of the dance floor. Away from_ her. _

She stood before him, her eyes to the ground, her weight shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. How was she supposed to explain what was happening inside of her when she didn't understand it herself?

"I'm waiting, Kate." He said, his voice tinged with anger.

She placed her hands on his chest, looking up. "Castle. _Nothing_ is going on. I promise you." She searched his baby blues, hoping he could feel her sincerity. "It's just," Her eyes darted in the general direction of where Bette had been standing. "That was a very private, very intimate part of my life that I _never_ expected to be sharing with anyone."

"No one twisted your arm."

She gave him a look.

"Okay," He put his hands up, "I pressured you, but Kate, you volunteered most of the information. It's not like..."

She stopped him, "Castle, I know. I'm not blaming you."

She took a long, slow, steadying breath, her hands still resting on his chest. That _his_ hands lay limply at his sides was not lost on her, and it stabbed at her heart.

She was suddenly very afraid. Afraid that she'd hurt him, afraid that he didn't trust her or believe her. Afraid of the confusing feelings that were churning inside of her like an F5 tornado.

But of _this_ she was certain. "I love you, Rick. God, I love you so much, and I don't know why seeing _her_ is having such a..." She searched for the right word, "..._weird_ affect on me. But, I _promise_ you it _isn't_ because I want her, or what I _had_ with her."

He softened, scanning her face, seeing the truth there, on her face, in the corners of her eyes, the naked, vulnerable, remorseful truth. He brought his hands to cover hers and guided them around his middle, then he ran his thumb along her bottom lip, framing her face, gently kissing her lips. "Okay." He whispered against her mouth. "It's okay, Kate."

She sobbed, just slightly, into his mouth as relief washed over her. Whatever she was going through, whatever this was, this thing with Bette, she was not going to let it get between her and Castle, she was going to figure it out.

She leaned into him, pressing her lips hard against his, feeling the familiar excitement rise within her whenever their bodies were this close. She nipped at his bottom lip before pulling away, then she smiled against his cheek. "Should we get something to eat? I'm kinda hungry."

He chuckled, leaning back to gaze into her eyes, the adorable crinkle in their corners returning, "I'm starting to notice that you're _always_ hungry."

She playfully slapped his bicep, beaming. They were both beaming. It was okay. It was going to be okay.

"Kate Beckett!"

They turned to see Bette Porter standing in front of them, an attractive blonde beside her. A gasp tumbled from Kate's lips as Castle snaked his arm possessively around her waist.

Recovering, Kate smiled, shyly, "Bette. Wow, how are you?" They hugged, awkwardly. Castle not relinquishing his hold on Kate, so it was more of a sideways hug.

"I'm good." Bette said, eying Kate up and down. "You, wow, Kate you look terrific."

Kate blushed, her eyes dropping to the floor before she glanced up at Castle. "Bette, this is Richard Castle."

They shook hands. "Mr. Castle. I know of you, actually," She pointed at the woman next to her, "Tina is a fan."

"Hi," Tina said, holding out her hand to Castle, "She's right, I'm a huge fan. I have all of your books." She glanced at Kate, "And, you're the inspiration for Nikki Heat, right?" She asked, a broad smile plastered across her face.

"That's right." Kate said, nodding, slightly embarrassed.

"Please, excuse me," Bette Interrupted, she rested her hand on Tina's arm, "This is my wife, Tina Kennard."

"It's very nice to meet you, Tina." Kate said.

"And you," Tina replied, her eyes darting admiringly back to Castle.

"My production company bid on Heat Wave, Mr. Castle. Unfortunately, we were too _artsy_."

Castle smiled, rocking back on his heels, "Really? You're with...?"

"Shaylin Studios." Tina answered.

"Tina is the CDD there." Bette interjected.

Castle raised an eyebrow, "Wow. Well, I think we were going for the big blockbuster angle rather than the Indie approach," Castle replied.

Kate angled her body towards him, "Speaking of Heat Wave, when the hell is that movie coming out, anyway? Hasn't it been in post production for like, ever?"

He waived a hand, "It's complicated."

Tina rolled her eyes, "Tell me about it. It's a miracle movies _ever_ get made!"

Castle smiled, "I know, right?"

Kate stole a glance at Bette, who was staring back at her. She blushed, instinctively inching closer to Castle.

Castle raised a hand, pointing at Bette. He turned to Kate, "You know what? I finally figured out who she looks like."

Kate nodded, "I know." She bit her bottom lip, "Sofia."

"Yes."

"Who's Sofia?" Bette asked.

"Oooh, is that the Russian spy who nearly killed you? Sofia Turner?" Tina asked excitedly.

They all stared at her.

She sideways glanced at Bette, whispering through the corner of her mouth, "I told you, I'm a _fan_."

"Yeah, _that _Sofia Turner." Kate replied, "And, _his _ex." She side nodded at Castle.

"Really?" Bette raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms in front of her. " You said _finally_ figured out who I look like. How...?"

"Kate told me about the two of you," Castle answered. "I've seen your picture."

"Ah," Bette replied, nodding, her eyes wandering to Kate in surprise.

Castle gestured at Tina, "You know, you look familiar, too. You don't have a sister in New York, do you?" Castle asked.

"No. No sister." Tina replied.

"Oh, yeah." Kate said, snapping her fingers. "She looks just like the wife of that Russian mob hit victim, right? The drug mules' wife?"

"Exactly, uncanny resemblance, isn't' it?"

"They say everyone has a doppelgänger," Bette interjected.

Nervous laughter filled the spaces between them as they all nodded, glancing nervously around, attempting to force a conversation that simply wasn't going to organically happen.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Kate opened her mouth. "Well, I think we're going to get something to eat." She looked at Bette, "It was lovely to see you, again. You haven't changed a bit."

"Nor you," Bette replied, smiling brightly. "Well, actually, you've only changed for the better. You look, you look _fantastic_."

Kate blushed, Castle maneuvered closer to her, and Tina narrowed her eyes at Bette, a confused, perhaps even concerned, expression clouding her face.

As they walked away, Kate glanced backwards to find Bette's mystical black eyes staring back at her.

She gasped then quickly looked away.

* * *

The wall of the elevator pressing roughly into her back, Kate raked her slender fingers carelessly through his hair, coercing it into an unruly, tousled, mess. He moaned into her mouth, his body crushing hers as their tongues seductively danced and roamed, waltzing, twirling, searching in a frantic, shattered kiss.

She snaked her arms around his middle sliding her hands eagerly down his backside, grabbing, clutching him, thrusting his pelvis deliciously into hers, her teeth sinking playfully into his flesh as she nibbled and licked and kissed her way up his throat.

"_I want you, Castle_. _Right now,_" she purred into his ear. And she did, she wanted him, she _needed_ him, she needed him to touch her in that magical way he does, because it didn't matter _where_ on her body he touched her, she _always_ felt it _there._

He grabbed her wrists and pinned them against the wall above her head, his lips tracing a hot path along her neck, dipping to the spot between her breasts before climbing back up and finding her mouth, his tongue darting between her lips in a delirious, frenzied search.

She moaned, her pelvis writhing against him, feeling his growing erection against her hip. She wriggled, urging a reaction from him, a deep throated groan spilling past his lips and into her mouth, sending shivers like shards of glass along her charged flesh.

Just when she thought her knees might give out, the elevator door dinged open, breaking the spell that had been cast upon them. Dizzy and disoriented they parted, stumbling out of the elevator, clutching each other as they clumsily made their way down the hallway to her front door.

Once inside, their mouths engaged in a deep, lusty kiss, she relieved him of his tuxedo jacket, working her fingers quickly over the buttons of his crisp white shirt, releasing the cumberbun and letting it slip to the floor.

Their lips parting briefly, she ran her fingers beneath his red suspenders, she smiled, her eyes dancing. "So _sexy, _Castle_._" She tugged at them, sliding them down his arms until they fell limply against his hips.

His lips curved, eyes twinkling, he rubbed his nose against hers, his breath hot, "You like those? Suspenders?"

She nodded.

"I'll have to remember that." He took her mouth with his.

With his lips against her throat, he caressed her back where it was bare above the sleeveless gown. Her hands roamed beneath his open shirt, her fingers fanning the broad expanse of his chest, teasing his nipples, strumming his ribcage, before tracing the angles of his abdomen and finally reaching his waistband, where she unclasped his pants and tugged at the zipper. The need growing more urgent within her.

"God. _Now_, Castle. I need you in my bed, _now_." She whimpered, her body leaning into him.

* * *

Panting, dizzy, breathless, her hands gripped the headboard on her bed as she faced the wall on her knees. He was behind her, caressing her skin, his hand snaking around her front to fondle her breasts, tease her nipples, sending ripples of pleasure coursing throughout her body.

He slipped a hand between her legs, she was wet, eager, open. She rocked against his hand as he used one knee to guide her legs apart. She bent forward, pressing herself against him, begging for relief.

But, he was taking his time, enjoying her squirming, gasping, wanting body as it writhed beneath him. He continued to tease her with his hands until she cried out, cursing at him to _fuck_ her.

So he did. She fell onto her hands as he eased himself into her from behind, his hands on her waist, coaxing her body to match his rhythm, which it did, easily, willingly, eagerly.

Her lips formed into the shape of an O as he gathered speed, their bodies audibly slapping against each other with each thrust of him into her. She gasped when he gathered her hair into a tight fist and pulled. Her eyes fluttered shut as she absorbed the conflicting sensations her body was generating.

She placed one hand at the space where they were joined, her fingers tracing him as he stroked in and out of her, then pressing firmly against her throbbing sex to coax the orgasm building inside of her.

She rose up, her back against his front, his one hand greedily massaging her breast while the other held onto her hair, his lips hot on her neck. "Is this how you like it, Kate?" He hissed into her ear.

She gasped, pausing, the air between them suddenly shifting, growing more aggressive, angry, rough. They'd not been like this, this kind of angry sex, since the first night they were together.

She reached above and behind her, grabbing him at the back of the head, turning hers so their mouths could meet.

He bit her lip. Hard.

She cried out in a mixture of agony and pleasure, their bodies still in perfect rhythm, her orgasm building, climbing, ready to explode around him.

Just like her. She was ready to explode, to shatter, into a million sharp pieces.

When he realized that she'd been touching herself, he roughly shoved her hand away, replacing it with his own, expertly using his fingers to manipulate her throbbing flesh.

Shards of light radiated beneath her eyelids and she fell onto her hands and knees, waves of pleasure, tinged with pain, rippling from her center to the ends of every nerve, every vein, every cell of her body.

When she was still, he pulled out of her, then guided her onto her back, he covered the full expanse of her body with his, then entered her again, his measured strokes designed to coerce her body into climax, again.

And, just before she came, he fanned his fingers at her throat. "Open your eyes, Kate." He ordered, "I want you to look at me when you come."

Her eyes flew open, she gazed at him, gasping. His eyes were blazing, boring into her. Never had she seen such a look of, what was it? Anger? Intensity?

At the moment of her release, she cried out, "Castle, oh, god," her eyes open, she could tell it was important to him, her body afflicted with waves of pleasure, painful, sorrowful, pleasure.

As if that made any sense.

She kept her eyes locked with his, resisting the overwhelming urge to close them as her body screamed and hummed and quaked. And tears sprang up in the corners of her eyes, but before she could do anything about them, _he_ came, too. Groaning, thrusting, once, twice, a third time until his body was satiated and he collapsed, moaning, panting, onto the bed beside her.

They lay still for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until finally, Kate turned her head towards him. "Castle," She started, tentatively. "What? What was that?"

He stared at the ceiling. "What do you mean?" Cold. Clipped. His voice dripping with anger.

"I mean, what, why?"

He turned his head. "You mean you don't know?"

She searched his face, what the hell was happening? Why was he so...angry?

"No."

He turned to look at the ceiling again. "I want to know, Kate, when we're making love, that you're thinking about _me_. When you come, I need to know that it's _my_ face you're seeing."

She was genuinely confused. What had changed from the elevator to her bed? "Castle. Why would you think...?"

Before she could finish, he swung his legs out of bed, sitting up, grabbing something off the nightstand and tossing it on the sheet beside her.

"She's graduated from a table on your living room to the table next to your bed." He accused.

She looked down, it was the grainy black and white picture of her and Bette Porter, taken a hundred years ago.

"Castle." She pleaded, as she watched him walk away from her and into the bathroom.

She looked at the framed picture in her hand.

_Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!_

She threw the frame across the room and buried her face in her hands.

* * *

A/N: Okay, please, just stay with me. I promise, this might be a bumpy ride, but we'll get there in the end! Remember, this IS a Caskett story. -dk


	7. Chapter 7

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Seven**

**By Dana Keylits**

**A/N: The character of Bette Porter was created by Ilene Chaiken and I am simply borrowing her for my own selfish purposes. **

* * *

"How do you know he was _angry?" _Lanie asked, sucking on the grape she'd just picked off of Kate's plate.

"I know angry sex when I have it, Lanie." Kate rolled her eyes.

"So, he just left?"

"Yep. He just _left_," she replied, waving her hand in the air for dramatic effect, then reached for the bottle of Pinot Noir from the countertop, refilling her glass.

She held the bottle up, gesturing to Lanie, who shook her head, her glass still half full.

"And you explained it to him? Why the picture was there?"

"Yes, Lanie, I told you. I explained it to him. And, he seemed to accept my explanation, but _then_ he said he needed to go home!"

"At two in the morning."

"Yes!" She exclaimed, raising the goblet to her lips, grateful for the sedating effects of the crimson liquid. "At two in the frickin morning!"

"That's not good," Lanie whispered.

Kate looked up, her eyebrows raised "Ya think?" Her shoulders slumped, "And then," She gestured with her wine glass, "...he said he needed the whole day today to write. We haven't seen each other in eight days because of his book tour, and the one day I have off in the next week, and he suddenly needs to _write_?"

"I'm so sorry, Kate." Lanie reached over and touched her elbow. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." Her throat suddenly constricting, unbidden tears rimming her eyes, "What _can_ I do? I don't even know _why_ I'm letting this be an issue."

She picked up her glass and wandered into the living room, shaking her head. Lanie followed her. She did _not_ want to cry, She just, desperately, wanted to make this _better._ She didn't even know where to begin, _how_ to begin.

She dropped onto the couch, feeling deflated and resigned, reaching behind her to toss the accent pillow onto the floor, irritated. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger, and let loose a long, tortured sigh.

"God. This is so fucked up." Her eyes salty with tears, she searched Lanie's face for comfort. "How can I possibly make this better, if I don't even understand why I'm feeling the way I am?"

The two friends just stared at each other, the charged air swirling around them, filling up the corners and spaces with Kate's nervous, remorseful energy.

"Kate." Lanie started, cautiously. "I'm going to ask you a question."

The lines that formed between Kate's eyes betrayed her understanding that this was, in all likelihood, going to be a doozy of a question.

"And, don't be offended. And don't answer right away, okay? Think about it." Lanie inched closer to her friend on the couch.

"Okay," Kate replied, "go ahead."

She took a deep breath. "Is it possible, at all possible, that the reason you are having so much trouble putting this behind you, is because you don't_ want _it behind you?"

Kate flinched, tucking her chin into her neck. "What?"

She held her palms out. "I'm just saying that maybe, maybe even unconsciously, you _want_ her."

Kate opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. But nothing came out.

Lanie set a gentle hand on Kate's knee. "Think about it, Kate. And be honest with yourself. Maybe this is so hard because," She paused, "...because what you really want is to have _sex_ with Bette Porter?"

Kate shook her head, unable to fathom what Lanie was suggesting. "I would never do that to him, Lanie. I would _never_ cheat on him."

Lanie nodded. "I'm not saying you would. But I _am_ saying that you might _want _to. That some part of you, even a small part of you, might be considering it."

Kate felt sick, like she might actually vomit right then and there. She leaned forward, her hand over her mouth while a large, red, brick filled the empty spaces in her stomach. Tears streamed in a jagged line down her cheeks as she stared at Lanie, who may as well have just reached across the expanse between them and slapped her across the face; it would have hurt _less_.

* * *

Castle paced. He didn't know what else to do. He wasn't going to cry, he wasn't going to throw things, and he certainly wasn't going to talk about it with his mother.

Imagine! _Mother, guess what? Kate had a lesbian affair in college with a woman who conveniently now lives in New York, and who conveniently happened to be at the same gala we were at last night. Oh, and by the way, I'm pretty sure Kate is now fantasizing about her while we have sex, and masturbating to a picture of them together when she's alone! _

No, he wasn't going to have _that_ conversation.

So instead, he paced, angrily, frustratingly, agonizingly, he paced. Back and forth, back and forth in front of the long windows of his loft. His _empty_ loft that was growing emptier by the minute.

His mind drifted back to the previous night. To the passionate, mind-blowing, fearless lovemaking they'd had. He'd felt so intrepid, so liberated, she was always so willing to try anything, to go anywhere, to satisfy any itch. He loved that about her, about _them_. And, It had been that way from the first night they were together.

_So you liked it? She'd asked, her hair adorably tousled, her breasts peeking through the oversized dress shirt she'd thrown on._

_Yeah. _

_Even the part where I...?_

_Especially that part, I loved that part. _

And, since that day, there had been nothing but _those parts_ in their lovemaking. It exhilarated him, excited and aroused him, and, last night had been no different. Until.

Until his eyes had stumbled across the picture on her bedside table and his mind conjured up images of her naked, _aroused_, alone in her bed, pleasuring herself while staring at the face of her ex lover. He'd felt his cheeks go hot, embarrassment, anger, confusion had welled up within him and he'd gotten aggressive, demanding something of her that he didn't have to demand. That she had already given him willingly.

_You're such an asshole!_

Maybe, and, It's true, he _was_ assuming a lot, and she had denied it when he'd asked her.

_Be honest, Rick. You didn't _ask_ her. You _accused_ her. There's a difference. _

But what else was he supposed to think when he saw the picture of Bette on Kate's nightstand? Why else would it be _there_?

Kate had tried to explain it away, telling him some lame story about how she was going to pack it away in her keepsakes box but Lanie had come over and she'd left it on the bedside table. She'd said she'd completely forgotten about it, until, after they'd made love when he'd shown it to her.

_You _threw_ it at her!_

Whatever. It wasn't so unreasonable for him to be pissed off. She'd even admitted she was having "weird" feelings about Bette. That, in and of itself, was reason enough for him to be worried, wasn't it?

_Worried, yes. Judgmental and an ass? No._

He stopped pacing. A worry line masking his normally handsome features, his breath hitching in his throat, a score of butterflies taking flight in his stomach. He stared, wide-eyed, straight ahead as a horrifying, paralyzing thought skittered across his brain.

Was she having an affair?!

_No! Jeez! No!_

But, what if she _was_ having an affair?

_She's NOT having an affair, and you know it, jackass!_

He took a calming breath, trying to temper the panic, rising like steam, within him, combing his fingers anxiously through his hair, his shoulders slumping, he realized that he _did_ know it. In spite of the insecurity seizing his body, wreaking havoc with his temporarily addled mind, he still trusted her. He still believed in her. Still believed in _them_.

As he crossed to the drink cart in his dining room, refilling his scotch and water, he desperately wished that this whole thing had never even started in the first place. That he had never heard the name Bette Porter, that he'd never learned of Kate's sapphic dalliance with the woman, _or_ the fondness with which she now remembered that time.

What he thought would be an innocent, playful, provocative question had inexplicably snowballed into a _nightmare_.

_Well, you're the one who pulled on that thread, genius._

"I know!" he growled to no one in particular.

"Fuck!"

* * *

"God, Lanie! No!" Kate raked her fingers through her hair in disgust. "Why would you even think that?"

Lanie held up both hands in surrender. "I'm being your _friend_, Kate Beckett."

She softened, her body relaxing. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Look, I had to ask. You're the one who said it's time to get real. No more half truths, no more subtext with him. Remember?"

She nodded, "I remember."

"So. If it isn't that you're still attracted to her, or want to have sex with her. Then, what is it?"

Kate shook her head, looking at Lanie with narrowed eyes. "I'm not sure."

She glanced sideways at her friend, "But, you have a theory."

Kate chewed on her thumbnail. "It's not fleshed out."

Lanie stood up and crossed to the kitchen, bringing the wine bottle back to the couch with her and filling both goblets.

"Then let's flesh it out."

* * *

He had to go to her.

As his rage had settled, shuffling slowly off of him, gathering like a dusty pile at his feet, exposing the open corners of his logical mind, he could see how petty, how unwilling to trust, he'd truly been.

Not to mention he'd been a cold-hearted ass. He winced, now, as he thought about how he'd left her. She'd tried to stand in his way, her eyes big and round, glazed with tears, she'd pleaded for him to stop, to listen, the sheet clutched in her hands as it wrapped around her naked body. But he had been too hurt, too blinded by the fragile workings of his ego, to even _notice_ her pain. What kind of a man does that?

He was haunted by the memory of her face, by the hurt and confusion that masked her delicate features, the soft whimper he'd heard as he'd slammed the door behind him.

God, why had he been such a childish prick!? What the hell was he thinking? That's not even who he _was_ anymore. He desperately wished he could take it all back. Take back every hurtful word, every mean gesture, every _dismissal_ of her explanations.

He had to find her, to beg for her forgiveness, to _listen_ to her, really and truly _listen,_ and not make pedantic, ego generated, assumptions. She had always been truthful with him in the past...

_Well, except for that little matter of when she'd lied to you for an entire year about knowing that you loved her._

Well, yes, except for that. But, that was different. That was a specific event, a specific time and circumstance, and they weren't _together_ together yet, and she was still healing from everything that had happened that year. He could forgive her that, just as she had forgiven _him_ for lying to her about Mr. Smith.

Besides, they'd changed that dynamic. Moved forward, improved their communication. Or, at least, he _thought_ they had.

Time to find out, he mused as he grabbed his phone and keys and marched determinedly out the door.

* * *

"Well, it makes sense to me, Kate." Lanie said, draining her glass.

"It does?"

"Yes, of course. Don't you think so?"

Kate nodded. Of course it did. But why hadn't she gotten there sooner? Why hadn't she figured all of this out before? It could have saved them both from this unnecessary, gut wrenching, broken-hearted agony that she'd so flippantly put them through.

She had to go to him. Find him, apologize to him for making him worry about her intentions, about her desires, her needs. God, of course he'd stormed off last night. He was hurt, and confused, and _she_ wasn't helping any with her "it's weird" subterfuge.

She knew better than that now, and, she needed to go _do_ better. She had to fix it. She had to _make_ him understand. _Make_ him believe. She didn't know how, she didn't even know if she _could._ But she sure as hell wasn't going to give up without a fight.

"I have to go find him, Lanie."

Lanie smiled, getting up off the couch. "Of course you do." She crossed her fingers and held them in front of her face. "Good luck!"

They hugged.

"What, no kiss?" Lanie teased.

Kate made a face.

"Too soon? Okay, I'll see you later." Lanie giggled, floating out the door.

* * *

He bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time, not wanting to wait for the elevator. He had to get to her, had to get to her _now_. He had been kicking himself the entire way over, his heart pounding, hurting and broken with the overwhelming regret over the way he'd treated her.

His forehead shiny with sweat, his body doubled over from lack of oxygen, he paused in front of her door. What if she slammed it in his face? What if she couldn't forgive him? What if, by his actions, he'd _forced_ her right into the arms of _Bette Porter_?

He didn't have a plan, but he had to try.

He raised his fist to knock on the door.

* * *

Kate holstered her gun, teased her badge onto her belt, gathered her keys, phone and wallet, and balanced them by the door as she grabbed her blue trench coat from the front closet and threw it over her shoulders. Turning off the lights, save the one light above the kitchen sink, making sure all of the candles had been blown out, she gathered her stuff and turned the knob on the door.

She jumped. "Castle!"

He stood there, looking surprised, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, panting and out of breath, his fist poised in the air as though about to knock.

"I was just on my way to come find you." She explained, stepping aside as he quickly crossed the threshold into her apartment.

They squared themselves to each other, their eyes shiny and blazing.

"I'm sorry," They said, simultaneously.

"You're sorry?" They asked, simultaneously,

They laughed.

He grabbed her tepidly by the shoulders. "Kate." He pulled her to him, framing her face with his hands, and kissed her, softly, gently, quickly. He leaned his forehead against hers. "I am _profoundly_ sorry for being such an ass last night." His face a mask of pain and regret, his eyes misty, a sob trapped in his throat.

She reached up and fanned her fingers along his cheeks, her thumbs tracing his lips, her_ own _ eyes rimming with tears. She kissed him. Long, slow, tender. No tongue. Just her lips on his, the wet tears blanketing her cheeks mixing with his. "I'm sorry, too, Castle. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

They breathed into each other, their bodies tilted and humming, the weight, the pain, the heaviness of the past twenty-four hours shedding from them like the molted feathers of a phoenix. She curled her arms around his neck as he wrapped his around her waist, filling all of the spaces between them.

They held on for dear life.

They stood there like that, for what felt like hours, in the front hallway of her apartment, holding each other, breathing, sobbing, _forgiving._ Healing. With their lips, their hands, their life's breath, they soothed each other, silently asked for and offered forgiveness, understanding, compassion, love. They didn't want to move, or speak, or do anything that would break the restorative spell of which they were casting upon each other. And, the longer they held each other, speaking with their bodies, their breath, their lips, the lighter, more translucent, the air around them became.

And they laughed, simultaneously. They laughed the laughter of a prisoner who'd just been released, or a kid on the last day of school. It was laughter of relief, release, joy, liberation. And, although they had much left to say with words, they had already spoken volumes with just their bodies, their eyes, their warm, soft, forgiving lips on each other.

And, they knew, they knew that no matter what was going to be spoken tonight, no matter what was going to come their way tomorrow, they would be okay.

She took his hand in hers and led him into the apartment.

"Can you stay the night?" She'd asked, tentatively.

"Yes." He replied, "yes, I'd like that."

She nodded, smiling. "C'mon," towing him into the bedroom, "let's talk."

* * *

A dark sedan sat parked, idling, outside of Kate's apartment, mysterious, black eyes watching the front door in dismay.

She had wanted to go up and see her, _just_ _to_ _talk_, she'd told herself. So, she'd sat in the car, gathering the courage to go knock on the door, but just as she'd cut the engine and opened the car door, Richard Castle had come running up the sidewalk.

"Shit!" She'd slammed the car door shut and started the engine. Staring daggers at the mystery writer as he'd bounded up the front steps of Kate's building. She'd revved the engine a little too forcefully in her frustration.

So now, she had to decide if she was going to wait him out, which seemed ridiculous because he was probably tucked in for the night, or come back another day.

Deciding on the latter, Bette Porter put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb with an exasperated squeal of her tires.

"I'll be back, Kate."

* * *

**A/N: This isn't the end. One more chapter to come, and don't worry, I know you've come to expect it so I will do my best to bring the _heat_ back to the next chapter! Thank you to all of you who have stuck with this bumpy ride, I hope it was worth it! I have certainly had a blast!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Eight**

By Dana Keylits

Bathed in the ambient glow of a 40 watt light bulb, they sit, fully dressed, on the bed, her, cross-legged, he, leaning against a pile of soft pillows stacked against the curved iron headboard. She inches closer to him, needs to touch him, to feel the warmth of his flesh against hers, desperate to close the open spaces between them, literally _and_ figuratively.

She opens her palm as it rests on his thigh, and he slides into it, his large hand engulfs her slender one, suggesting that the words on the tip of her tongue aren't necessary.

But, she needs to say them, anyway.

They slip out easily.

An "I'm so sorry," cascades off her rose-colored lips, the corners of which turn down with the weight of it all, her face hides behind the curtain of loosely curled caramel hair as she gazes down at their hands, fingers interlacing now, her thumb traces lazy circles upon his extraordinarily supple skin.

"Kate," he whispers, his _own_ remorse nudging its way towards her from the near corners of his heart.

"Castle," She looks up, her pleading misty eyes locked to his shining baby-blues. "I handled this _whole_ thing so badly." She is pleading, praying, hoping. "I would take it all back, if I could." She dips her head, her eyes dart to his lips, as they often do when she swells for him, "If I could, Castle, I'd take it all back and do it over."

He takes her hand to his lips, kissing her softly. "I know, and I would too, Kate. I was hardly a shining prince in all of this." The corners of his mouth turn up as though trying to coax even the slightest hint of a smile from her, which he manages.

Her head bobs, a measured, anguished breath gusting past her lips. "I want to try and explain this to you, though. About why this was so," she searches the hazy depths of her brain for the perfect word, which she fails to find, so instead resigns herself to the mundane "..._weird_ for me."

He nods, as though he knows that silence is the only prompt she needs right now.

"Castle, when I met Bette, I was in a very _awkward_ stage of life." She pauses, scratches the tip of her nose with one slender finger, then tucks a stray lock of chestnut hair behind one ear. "I mean, who _isn't_ at that age, right?" Laughter floats outward, surprising her because she still feels so _heavy_. "I felt out of place at Stanford. I didn't know why, still don't, as a matter of fact. And, my relationships with men, well, they hadn't been that great."

His eyes crinkle, "Grunge rockers who smelled like cove cigarettes and wet flannel, right?"

A giggle, he remembers. How long ago had she told him that? A smile finds its way to her face, "Yeah, right." She beams at him, knows what it means that he remembers that tiny bit of trivia from her past. "Anyway, in high school I was wild, daring, I didn't really care what anyone thought, and if I wanted something? I did whatever I had to do to get it."

He nods, his face betraying no surprise.

"Except when it came to boys. And, sex."

His eyebrows shoot up.

"I wasn't comfortable in my own skin," She explains. "And the few times I _had_ sex during my high school years it was clumsy...and _painful_."

Lines appear between his eyes, his lips bowed into a frown as he leans slightly towards her, wanting to comfort her, protect her, even if only from her own distant memories.

"Not like that," she reassures, holding up a staying palm. "No one hurt me on purpose. It's just. I think I was having sex for the wrong _reasons_. I was doing it because it was expected of me, and because I was rebelling against my parents, and, because, I didn't want to be the only virgin in my class." She rolls her hazel eyes at the stupidity of that.

Her head swivels almost imperceptibly from side to side, the soft chestnut curls, haloing around her shoulders, quiver with the effort. She glances at the ceiling. "_None_ of which are good reasons."

"What are good reasons?" He asks, softly.

"Love. Lust. Passion. Desire. Need." She ticks off in rapid fire succession. "Because you _want_ to."

He nods his agreement.

"So, being with Bette. Castle, it liberated me. It gave me permission to break _all_ the rules, shatter expectations. And," She glances at the ceiling again before squaring her eyes to his."...she taught me how to enjoy my own body, how to be comfortable with it."

"She was a good teacher." He smiles. That _adorable_ smile that makes her insides quake with desire.

She tamps it down and grins in return, wondering if they're ready to start joking about it yet, then decides she'll let him determine that.

"She was adventurous. And, I was adventurous, too. In nearly every way. But not sexually. At least, I hadn't _awoken_ that part of me, until I was with her."

"And, after her?"

She looks at him, just _looks_ at him, and a blush rises low on his neck, creeping up his cheeks, before passing over his twinkling, shiny eyes, to smooth out his forehead.

He had his answer.

She continues, "Until you, Castle, Bette was the only other lover I've ever had who shared my," pausing to enunciate dramatically "..._exploratory_ _proclivities_."

He squints. "So, are you saying that I _remind_ you of her?"

She nods.

He smiles as if in some great triumph, which she supposes it is. "So, Demming, and Josh, they..?"

She cuts him off, a playful slap to the thigh. "Do you really think we should talk about any of my other exes, Castle?"

He tucks his chin into his neck, batting his eyelashes at her, "No, you're right. Probably not a good idea."

The air is lighter between them now, she feels safe, indelibly loved, inexplicably liberated. And, he seems to understand her, to get what she is clumsily attempting to explain to him. And, he's right about Tom and Josh. Sex with them was good, but not great. She tried to coax each of them out of their established routines, but they weren't able to always _go_ there with her. Tom was very businesslike, preferring the missionary position, and Josh, well, he was kind, and thoughtful, always making sure her needs were met, but hardly willing to try anything..._kinky_.

Not like Castle. Or Bette. Who were open to a lot of things, willing to be adventurous and free, perfectly comfortable with their sexuality that they made love to her with careless, sometimes _reckless_, abandon. But also sweet, considerate, sometimes even _traditional_, even though that seems an oxymoron.

And it was for _that_ reason that for a brief time after she'd told Castle about her affair with Bette, that she'd been confused by the memory of it. The trail from Bette to Castle wound through her like barbed wire, the lines between them murky, and Kate was so panicked about what it might mean, that it wasn't until she and Lanie fleshed it out over mulled wine and honesty that she fully understood it.

And, it seemed so banal, so obvious. Her angst over it all had been _so_ misplaced and unnecessary. And for that, regret and remorse coursed through her faster than the blood that raced through her veins.

But as she sits here, explaining all of this to him, she can see he's forgiven her. That he _understands_. And, as the air swirls warmly, languidly around them, the circle of soft light from the bedside lamp enfolding them in it's protective glow, she is certain, now more than ever, that _he_ is _hers_.

* * *

When she finishes talking, the worry lines between her eyes fading with each measured word, he is speechless at her vulnerability, her honesty. He wants to just gather her up in his arms and hold her as tightly as he can, but knows he has to get through _his_ narrative before he can feel safe enough to be that near to her.

And so he gathers as much air into his lungs as he can, and then forces it out, his shoulders rising and falling at the task. He is reclining too casually for the words he needs to use, so he changes position, tucking his feet beneath him and resting on his haunches like a four year old in front of a train set. He faces her. She is still sitting cross-legged, her hands laying untroubled and motionless in her lap. He sees this as a positive sign.

It is not within him to control it, so he reaches out, cradles her face in one hand, his thumb lightly brushes her lips as he looks at them with smoky eyes. "Kate, I..."

He stops, everything stops, because she has instinctively placed her hand over his. Her eyes flutter closed, her lips brush his wrist in a soft, sweet, _forgiving_, kiss.

He closes his eyes, having lost his breath, the room feels like it is spinning - and where she touches him, he feels on fire.

He remembers to breathe and a gasp escapes his trembling lips.

It is like the first time, and his heart is pounding, his blood in a frenzied race throughout his body, attempting to service the need he feels _there_.

"Kate," he manages to whisper, and she pauses, opening her eyes, they are glassy and unfocused, her pupils constricting even in this dim light.

"Kate, I have to get through this." He croaks, and she reluctantly allows her hand to float back into her lap, releasing his. He tucks it under his knee as he rocks backwards. Their eyes dance as they gaze at each other, naked, open, willing.

His mind wanders to the dark corners where the memory of last night lurks like a shameful secret. He coaxes it forward and winces as the ghostly shadow of her wounded face rises up from the ether. He is at her front door, she's blocking his path with her body, wrapped in the bed sheet, her hair tousled and falling loosely around her shoulders, grief and uncertainty contorting her normally flawless features. She _pleads_ with him to stay, to _listen_ to her, but he selfishly, childishly, storms past her, slamming the door behind him.

He was rough, and mean. And it pains him now, injures him, and he whimpers because his body cannot contain it, cannot fathom it. How was he able to be that man?

She senses it, he can tell, and her hands flutter as though she wants to enfold him, caress him, soothe the wounds that he created for himself not because of _her_, but because of _him_. But she resists, respectful of his need to get this all out.

Like a little boy, he looks down when tears threaten. He breathes in. Then, he breathes out.

She waits, patiently, evidently not wanting to break the hushed spell that has descended upon them like a warm blanket.

He finally looks up. "I'm sorry."

She nods, her eyes never leave his.

"I'm sorry, Kate. I..." He chokes. "I will _never_ do that to you, again."

She is less concerned with _her_ tears, and they spill freely from her unprotected eyes, tracing a hesitant path down her cheeks. She absently wipes at them with the back of one hand.

His whole body aches and he reaches for her again, using the tip of one finger to collect the salty tears as they fall from her chin. "I was childish, and hurt, and angry, and I lashed out inappropriately, and I didn't listen, and I wanted _you_ to feel how _I_ felt."

The lines between her eyes make a return. "How did you feel, Castle?" She asks, tentatively.

He opens his mouth, considers her before answering. "Betrayed."

She nods.

"But, I know that it was stupid, Kate. All I had to do was listen. If I had listened, I..." He lets the words hang. Another sob silencing his voice as he fights back the tickle of tears that build up behind his eyes.

She nods again. "It's okay, Castle. We _both_ needed to listen."

"It's just, I couldn't understand why you still had her picture, and why it was," he side nods at the table, "...there. The only photograph of an ex that I have hanging on my walls is Meredith, and that's because she's holding Alexis right after giving birth to her."

Kate's eyes are cast down as though ashamed, and his heart aches. He continues, "But, I..."

She interrupts him, "You're right, Castle. I should have put it away a long time ago." She shakes her head, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. "I never thought about it before. But, after I told you, after I felt so confused, I should have packed it away."

He nodded. "Yeah. But. Why didn't you?"

A sigh tumbles past her lips and she rakes her fingers through her tousled hair. "She _is_ my past, it's true, but she was _important_ to me. She left an indelible mark on my life. I just never wanted to forget, that no matter what, no matter how hard the job got, or my life got, or my moms case got, I could still be that liberated, sexy, _free_ spirit." She shrugs her shoulders. "Looking at her picture reminded me of that."

"Ah," he replies, a nod of his head.

"But, I should have realized, especially after you and I got together, that." She glances at the wall and then turns back to him her eyes rimmed with tears, "...that I don't _need_ a reminder. Because, Castle, it's _who_ I _am_ now." She snakes her hand along his thigh until it reaches his hand, she squeezes. "Especially with you."

His eyes grow wide, and suddenly swell with unexplainable tears. She goes to him, an instinctive, automatic response takes authority over her, and she raises up on her knees to wrap her arms protectively around him. He rises to meet her, too, and they embrace, hugging as tightly as they can, their bodies clutching, panting, humming, not able to get close enough even though the spaces between them have disappeared.

He breathes in. Then, he breathes out. "Kate, can you forgive me?" he sobs into her ear, his eyes squeezed shut to prevent the tears from blanketing his cheeks.

"Oh, Castle. I already have." She whispers. "Can you, me?"

"God. Yes. Kate. There's barely anything to forgive."

And then his lips hungrily skim her ear, his breath warm and tortured, traveling in a hot line to her cheek before capturing her mouth in a crazy, shattered kiss. He cradles her face with both hands, his need growing beyond his ability to tame, while his tongue slips between her lips, parting them.

And, they dance.

* * *

Her forehead against his, her breath hot and wanting, she pauses, as though seeking permission. The grind of his hips against hers propel her forward and her lips crush his, their tongues engage in a crazy frenzied ballet, swirling, teasing, sucking, before they pause to catch their breath.

She reaches down, cupping him, stroking him like she would a baby bird, his moans fill her mouth, and then desire seizes her, crashing through her body, and she cannot abide the fabric of their clothing keeping them apart for one _second_ longer.

She works the buttons of his shirt, but it isn't fast enough, so she rips them apart, a button flying through the air until it hits the floor, skitters across the hardwood where it lands inconspicuously beneath her wardrobe.

Her curious probing hands are everywhere, exploring his chest, fanning to strum the broad expanse of his ribcage, tickling the muscles of his abdomen, her thumb dips into his naval.

And she is sure, _sure_, steam is rising from them.

She doesn't remember how, but her sweater hits the floor and his hands expertly knead her charged skin, like a baker does bread, and then he fumbles with the clasp of her bra, short quick bursts of breath tumble past his lips as he struggles

She emits a deep throated moan, _grunts_ really, and then clutches at the band of her bra and yanks it up and over her head. His hands are immediately on her, greedy, squeezing, molding her breasts, his fingers pinching and teasing her already erect nipples.

She arches back, her hands grasping her ankles in a near perfect camel pose, and his lips are on her faster than white on rice, his arms wrap around her waist, supporting her. She's thanking the universe that she took up yoga, it comes in so, so, handy...

He sucks and nips at her breasts, his tongue flicking at her nipples, first the right, then the left, and she moans as currents of pleasure radiate from her aching nipples to the rest of her body.

And then she languidly comes back to him, their bodies crash against each other, their mouths searching, hot, and hungry.

She snakes her hand to his backside, grabs his ass, crushing his pelvis into her. She wiggles her hips when she feels how _ready_ he already is. She whispers in his ear, her voice low and throaty, "Do you know how fantastic your _ass_ is, Castle?"

He laughs, his hands wandering to _her_ ass, squeezing, caressing, his fingers dip between her legs and up to her warm, humming, sex. "Mmmm, not as fantastic as _yours_."

"Ohhhhhhhh"

She makes fast work of his belt, slides it through the belt loops then tosses it to the foot of the bed, "Might save that for later," she teases.

He growls.

"I need you naked. Castle. _Now_," she demands, slipping his pants button through the eyelet, she unzips him, her fingers play over him, he flinches, she smiles against his mouth. "You're so _ready_, Castle." She strokes him over the fabric of his plaid, _plaid?_ boxers, seductively, slowly, tortuously.

He groans.

She tugs at the hem of his boxers, her eyes gazing down, "These are cute," She teases.

"New." Is all he can manage to say, she's enjoying his agony.

His pelvis grinds against her hand, his arms crush her to him, one hand on her ass, the other at the back of her neck, he guides her in for a deep, probing, kiss, their tongues waltz from inside his mouth to inside hers. Particles of energy pass between them, enliven them, intoxicate them to the point that _nothing_ exists outside of this realm.

She pulls away from his kiss and yanks his boxers down, his penis springing free, and she takes him into her hand. "Mmmmm," she moans, looking down. "God."

He looks to the ceiling, blood rushes to his face, his body pink and humming as her lips wrap around him. His eyes involuntarily flutter shut, his hand moving to the back of her head, commanded by some unseen, unknown force.

She sucks him like she would a lollipop.

And then she pulls away, the need in _her_ no longer tolerable as the warmth between her legs spreads throughout her body, _demanding_ she pay heed to it. Her fingers fly over the buttons of her jeans, and then his hands are there, helping her. His fingers dive below the delicate silk of her panties, probing, flexing.

"Ohhhhh, Kate. You're so _wet_," he growls. All of the air in her lungs escapes her mouth in one, _very_ long, _very_ aroused, sigh.

They kick off their remaining garments, returning to each other, on their knees, their bodies humming, pulsing, thick with _want_, lusting for the others particular touch and vibration, to be joined and satisfied.

Castle stretches his legs out in front of him, then playfully motions for her to climb on. Her eyebrows arch, seductively, a smile brightens her face. She crawls to him on her hands and knees, then straddles his thighs, he's hard against her stomach, and she reaches for him again.

"I'm gonna bang you like a bass drum, Castle. You ready?"

He chuckles, his tongue sliding along her bottom lip. "Like a drum?"

"Mmm hmm, or, a screen door in a hurricane."

"Or a sailor on leave," he offers, playfully, his tongue roaming into her mouth as his arms encircle her.

She guides him to the warm, _wanting_ place between her legs, her hips tilting towards him, she rubs his erection against her, sliding him between her wet folds, not letting him enter her but stroking him between her hand and her body, sparks of energy seize her and she throws her head back, a groan rising from her throat.

She lifts herself slightly, rocking her hips, finding a cadence to match the pulsing of her center. He moans, too, clutching her at the waist as she slides herself up and down, his erection full and throbbing, gliding against her. She snakes both arms around his neck, increasing her rhythm as she feels herself getting close.

Her breathing changes, she throws her head back, holding onto his shoulders as she rubs against him, a familiar longing building, filling her, occupying her entire body, every nerve, every cell.

She releases one hand from around his neck and grabs her breast, pulling at the nipple with her thumb and forefinger, her body still gyrating, building, escalating, resonating with the beating of her heart, of _his_ heart, because they are in sync now. His lips are hot on her neck, his tongue darting against her infused flesh.

And then she feels it, her body exploding, spasms of pleasure encompass her, she puts her hand on him, pressing him to her shattered orgasm, his eyes fly open.

"Kate," he chokes.

She can't help it, she's crying, sobbing, even as her body is still quivering against him, even as the waves of pleasure are rippling over her, she cries. She can't stop it, doesn't want to stop it, because it's what's happening to her, it's what she's _feeling_. Not bad, not grief, not fear, it simply _is_. Because this is big. What she feels for, what she has with, _him_, it's way fucking _big_.

"Kate," he starts again, but she raises her mouth to his, swallows his words with her fearless tongue, tempering the emotion swelling inside of her.

"Shut up and _fuck_ me, Castle."

He grasps her hips, guiding her up, using one hand to hold himself until she can lower herself onto him. He fills her and she rolls her head from side to side, her mouth opens, her eyes flutter shut.

"Ohhhh, fuck. Castle, oh, god, that feels so _good_."

He raises his knees so she can rest her back against him, her hips moving, gyrating, taking all of him into her, pulling away, then plunging in again.

He was ready long ago, but he holds back, wanting her to come again, which she does, quickly, loudly, with the force of a cyclone tearing through an open field.

And then he comes, her name dripping from his lips as he fills her, pumping, throbbing. humming inside of her.

She collapses onto him, breathless, dizzy, _compete_ and full. She closes her eyes, resting her cheek against his shoulder, his strong arms encircling her. She cries again, her body shaking with sobs, with emotion, with _him_.

Castle waits for her to finish, motionless, satiated, himself panting and breathless.

He does not know how long they have stayed that way, how long they have been embraced like that, but he suddenly realizes he is still inside of her, grasped by elastic muscles that are rhythmically stroking him, pressing, releasing, clenching, coaxing. He manages to verbalize his complete and utter satisfaction before she presses her lips to his ear, a barely audible "_I_ _love_ _you_," passing from her lips.

When Kate feels he is again firm, she shifts her body, wrapping her legs around his waist, crossing her feet behind his back, her palms against the mattress, her fingers clutching the duvet. Her long hair tickles her spine as she throws her head back, filling herself again with _him_.

He thrusts into her, abandoning himself to her flavor, her heat, savoring the scent of her, it doesn't take long and he explodes like a stupefied adolescent, ashamed and remorseful that he couldn't give _her_ pleasure, for he wants nothing more in life than to _please_ her.

But she shushes him, complete, satisfied, happy, content.

He eases out of her and they lay back against the pillows, their arms and legs tangled in a sweaty, satiated, heap.

And, they are _okay_. They are _more_ than okay.

They're fucking in _love_.

* * *

**A/N: Huge, mad, crazy props go out to KJ for her endless flailing, deserved or not. To nic, for the practical advice she so freely gives, to Brooke for the "screen door" line...thanks! Gonna get my money's worth on that one. **

**I realize I said I only had one more chapter, but sometimes the story takes you in odd directions. So, there is _at least_ one more chapter left. Maybe two. **

**Thank you so much for your reviews and support. This has been fun, and it's not over, _yet_. **

**-dk**


	9. Chapter 9

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Nine**

**By Dana Keylits**

**Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to read this story, this little one-shot that has now grown into nine (and counting) fully formed chapters. To this of you who have favored, followed, reviewed, or PMd, I truly appreciate your effort! Thank you so much!**

**Special thanks to KJ who is a constant source of encouragement and support! **

**And to MA who is my support in real life, and reads my stuff even though she doesn't watch the show! **

* * *

Bette sits uncomfortably on the cold, hard plastic chair in the lobby of the 12th precinct, having given her name to the uniformed officer manning the front desk, telling him she was here to see Detective Beckett. He'd checked her I.D. then curtly motioned with his pen and a disapproving look to the row of stiffly molded chairs that adorned one bricked wall in the bustling lobby.

She patiently sits, her fingers curling nervously around the envelope she's brought for her former lover. And she waits.

She waits to see Kate.

Her mind misbehaves and wanders back in time to their last night together. A night that ended in heartache for them both. A night that Bette dearly wishes she could have back to do over again.

How she wishes, _truly_ _wishes_, she could do it all. over. again.

* * *

_"Roll over," I gently order, as I tickle my hand along her bare backside, giving it a playful slap before she squeals and does as she is told. We are in my bed, again, as we are most days. Kate has cast a spell on me and I find myself growing more and more intrigued by her adventurous ways._

_Unfortunately, I am also finding myself falling for her, and a familiar uneasiness settles over me. I am not willing to go down this road again, a road that ends in pain, heartbreak...and suicidal ideations._

_I had never expected to fall for Kate. When I met her two weeks ago, I could see she wanted to experiment, that she was open and willing and trusting, and I relished it. But, I knew it wouldn't lead anywhere. These kinds of relationships, with girls who are just experimenting, never do. And so, I am shocked by my feelings for her. I thought I had guarded my heart so well, but it melts, actually melts every time she smiles at me._

_The only thing I can do, sadly, is end it._

_"Bette?"_

_But not yet. Not tonight. Tonight, I have something special planned._

_I run my hand along her bare body, caress the slope of her belly, strum the delicate expanse of her ribcage, tickle the underside of her breast before teasing the nipple with my thumb and forefinger. I smile as she involuntarily presses her breast against my hand, her breathing shallow and tortured. A kittenish grin rearranges her delicate features._

_She reaches up with one hand and places it at the back of my neck, pulling me towards her. I go, willingly, my lips meeting hers in a languid, open, sultry kiss. Her tongue roams the inside of my mouth, teasing, flirting, dancing with mine, until we part, but only because we need air._

_I climb on top of her, straddling her, then reach for the bottle sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. I raise one eyebrow, seeking permission. With the tilt of her pelvis into me, she gives it, and I giggle as the tip of her finger finds it's way between her teeth in that way she does when she's aroused, wanting, and adventurous._

_Which she almost always is._

_I hold the tip of the bottle inches from her body, then squeeze. The sticky chocolate syrup pours out in a line and I drizzle her upper body with it, making sure to circle her nipples, before hovering above her lips where she greedily laps it up as I pour it into her mouth. I cap it and toss the bottle aside, then lick the remnants of the syrup from her lips before my tongue gallivants down her body, savoring the taste of the chocolate, and her, along it's happy, sexy, way. I take special care to focus on her erect nipples, taking one and then the other, into my mouth where I nibble and suck and flick my tongue against it, moaning as I hear her life's breath hitch in her throat._

_Suddenly, her fingers dig into my shoulders and she pulls me onto her, her hands framing my face, her tongue diving into my mouth in search of sweet, succulent satisfaction. Our bodies mash together, the syrup spreads across my abdomen and she curls one leg around me, flipping me so that now _she_ straddles _me_, our lips never parting._

_I am intoxicated by the scent of her, by the weight of her body on top of me, her tongue as it explores the inside of my mouth, her breasts as they meld into mine._

_I am intoxicated, and it scares me. Suddenly _she_ is the one in charge. I am not used to that, but with her, I kind of like it. I feel safe and scared in a paradoxical way, and I think I like it._

_But even that scares me, I don't want safe. I don't want sweet. I don't want to fall in love._

_And I _am_. Oh how I _am_ falling in love._

_Before I'm even aware of it, she is traveling down my body, licking her way along the trail of smeared chocolate that she has unexpectedly adorned me with, lapping up every ounce of it. And then she is between my legs, looking up at me, pleading, wanting, eager. She has not done this before, and she appears to be seeking my consent._

_"Kate," I whisper, low in my throat, wanting her to know she does not need to do this. But she ignores me, dipping her tongue onto my waiting, wanting, sex. I gasp, I cannot help it._

_Her tongue against my flesh is my undoing as I spiral into an unfamiliar place, my thoughts cannot keep pace with the spontaneous flares of my body as she coaxes me towards an unavoidable climax. She reaches up and covers one breast with her hand, squeezing, teasing the nipple in metronomic cadence with the course of her tongue against me and I feel as if I might shatter into a million sharp, satisfied, pieces._

_Inside I'm building...building, climbing higher, and her tongue instinctively flattens against me, for surely she must sense my nearness. And then, I explode around her, over and over and over and over, and she replaces her tongue with her hand and watches me as my body writhes with pleasure, the spasms continuing for an impossible amount of time, before finally, I am still, and she crawls on her hands and knees up the bed until she collapses next to me, her head resting on my sweaty shoulder._

_And I cuddle against her, cradling her head. Closing my eyes, I savor the feel of her in my arms, and I allow just enough time for my pounding heart to steady and calm before I wriggle my hips against her, snaking my hand to her center, slipping my fingers between her wet folds. "Oh, how wet you are, Kate." I murmur, my voice tinged with carnal appreciation._

_She bucks against me, her mouth open, her eyes closed. I plant my lips on hers as my fingers continue to flex against her, slipping inside of her, she is ready, she is close, and it doesn't take long before her breathing changes and I know she will be overcome with wave after wave of pleasure._

_She tilts her pelvis, pushing herself against my hand so that my fingers slide into her completely. She throws her head back and lets out a strangled cry of pure ecstasy, and I feel myself awaken by the sound of it._

_And then she is coming, her elastic muscles clamping against my fingers, my hand, and I can feel the spasms as they seize her body, and while she is still writhing against me, I lean down and lick the remainder of the chocolate from her abdomen._

_And I am falling. I am falling hard, and I know I must stop it._

_And a sense of complete sadness overwhelms me as I realize that this will be the last time I make love to Kate Beckett. As she nuzzles against me, warm and humming, satisfied and full, I am unable to stop them, and unbidden tears forge a path down my face._

* * *

He sneaks up behind her as she stands by the counter in the break room, absently pouring coffee into her favorite blue mug while she waits for a body to drop. They are alone in the room, so he inches closer to her, pressing his front against her back, wiggling his pelvis into the delicious curve of her ass.

Her head snaps up and she immediately looks around to see who's watching. "Castle!" She admonishes, although her voice is absent any harsh tones, her eyes betray no anger.

"Mmm, you smell delicious," he whispers, ignoring her gentle rebuke, his lips inches from her ear.

Her eyes flutter shut as she involuntarily leans back against him.

"Yo, Beckett."

They clumsily part, Castle stumbling over his feet in his haste to create distance between them. He plops unceremoniously into one of the chairs around the table.

"What's up, Javi?" She asks, shooting an amused look at Castle.

"You have a visitor," He consults his pocket notebook, "a Bette Porter? She's downstairs."

Kate and Castle share a confused look.

"Should I tell them to send her up?"

"Um, give me a minute?"

He nods, backing out of the room, sensing her need for privacy.

"Castle."

"What do you think she wants?" he asks.

"I have no idea. What should I do?"

"Well, we probably shouldn't keep her waiting downstairs. Why not just find out what she wants, then decide?"

She nods, uncertain.

"Kate, it's okay."

"Right," she responds. "Right."

She motions to Espo through the glass of the break room window to give the okay for Bette to come up, then turns back to Castle, blowing a stray strand of hair from her eyes. They sit at the table together, quietly, each sipping their coffee, their thoughts in synch as they wonder what Bette is here to do, or say...or claim.

"Are you nervous?" He asks, leaning into her, his hand gently brushing her knee.

"I'm," She pauses, thinking. "I'm not sure what I am, Castle. Confused, I guess."

"Confused?"

"Yeah, I mean, why would she want to see me after all these years?"

He eyes her up and down, "Have you seen yourself lately?"

She giggles, smacking his shoulder. "Stop it."

He laughs, his eyes shiny, carefree.

"No, really. I mean, she's the one who ended our..." She pauses, searching for the right word. What was it? A relationship? An affair? "...time together."

He raises an eyebrow, his eyes laughing at her, "Is that what the cool kids are calling it these days?"

Before she can answer, Esposito enters the room, Bette right behind him. Kate and Castle both rise to their feet.

Esposito catches the vibe that permeates the room and wisely exits, closing the door behind him.

Bette saunters up to Kate, invading her personal space. "Hello, Kate," she purrs in that velvety voice of hers. "It's good to see you again."

Kate steps back, smiles at Bette as she tucks her hair behind one ear. "Hi, Bette. Yeah, it's good to see you, too." She reaches behind her, grabbing Castle's wrist and pulling him beside her, "You remember, Rick?"

"Of course," Bette replies, vigorously shaking his hand. "It's lovely to see you again."

Her eyes return to Kate, then dart to Castle, then back to Kate. She seems to remember the envelope in her hand and awkwardly holds it out to Kate. "Um, Tina and I are having a dinner party next week, and would love it if you could join us." She smiles at Castle, "She would be _beyond_ thrilled if you would come. As you know, she's a _huge_ fan."

Castle smiles politely, "Oh, well, thank you. Thank _her_."

Bette steps closer to Kate. "Do you think we could talk for a minute?" Her eyes flutter towards Castle, "...alone?"

He picks up his mug from the table, touches Kate's elbow reassuringly, and smiles at Bette on his way out the door.

Bette's eyes follow him out and when the door clicks shut, she turns back to Kate who is now sitting on top of the table, her feet planted on a chair in front of her. She has deliberately created space between them, not because she doesn't trust _herself_, but because she doesn't trust _Bette_.

Bette steps closer, resting the palms of her hands on the back of the chair. "He knows about us," she says. It's a statement, not a question, and Kate simply nods.

Bette nods, too. "And, he's okay with that?"

"He's a good man. He doesn't judge," Kate replies, somewhat defensively, even though she knows there is nothing about Castle, or her relationship with him, that even remotely requires defending.

Bette regards her with obsidian, penetrating eyes, a sultry, amused expression, and Kate shifts uncomfortably in her seat. "You know, Kate. You are just as beautiful today as you were back then."

Kate doesn't reply, doesn't know _how_ to reply.

"I often think back to that time, and wonder what might have been..."

"If you hadn't dumped me?" Kate asks, surprised by the anger in her voice. She lifts the mug to her lips, an attempt to temper the unexpected, and unwelcome, emotion.

Bette opens her mouth, then closes it.

"Sorry," Kate offers. "I, um. It was probably the best thing, anyway, Bette. And, if you hadn't done it, I probably would have," Her eyes meet Bette's, "...eventually."

Bette nods, "Still, I can't help but wonder what might have happened between us, how long we..."

"Is that why you're here?" Kate interrupts. "Because, Bette, I'm happy..."

Bette holds up a staying palm. "I'm married, Kate. I'm not looking to rekindle an old flame."

Kate isn't entirely convinced, but chooses to take her ex at her word. "Okay, then...?"

"I was hoping we could be friends."

Kate must have looked surprised because Bette laughs, the hearty, open-mouthed, head thrown back, laughter of someone greatly, inexplicably, _amused_. "You look like a deer caught in headlights, Kate."

She recovers, "No, Bette. No, I don't mean to..."

"It's alright. Look, just think about it, okay?" She lets go of the chair and stands up straight. "And please, consider coming to our dinner party, I know Tina would be so happy if you were both there."

Kate smiles, flipping the square envelope over in her hands before answering. "Okay," she holds the envelope up, "...thank you for inviting us."

Bette smiles, nods, then turns and walks silently out of the room. Kate watches as she saunters towards the elevator, stopping to say something to Castle before pushing the down button and stepping into the car.

Her mind travels back to that day, that day that Bette broke up with her, and the sadness of that memory descends upon her like a heavy tarp.

* * *

"I don't understand why you don't just decide, Kate." Castle implores, toeing off his shoes as soon as he crosses the threshold of the expansive loft. He marches to the drink cart in the dining room, and immediately pours them both a glass of Pinot Noir.

He hands her a glass, "I told you, I'm fine with whatever you decide. Really, Kate. I'm fine. I trust you, I trust us,"he emphasizes, snaking his arm around her waist and pulling her in for a brief kiss. "Now, here's the hard part of the evening."

She raises an eyebrow, confused.

"What kind of pizza do we order?"

* * *

"Castle?" She closes the refrigerator door and turns sideways to look at him. "Why do you have a whole _case_ of Reddi-wip in your frig? "

He smirks, then sidles up beside her, running the back of his hand along her cheek, "You wanna find out?"

The blood in her veins rushes throughout her body before converging _there_ and producing an uncomfortable, though not unwelcome, sensation in her belly. She smiles, her eyes ablaze, her cheeks turning crimson, and he takes that as permission to grab a can, grab her, and head to the bedroom.

Like a pair of twirling dervishes they are out of their clothes, naked on the bed, the can of Reddi-Wip lays between them. His palm caresses her cheek as they kiss, and she is breathless, empowered, both submissive and controlling, _high_ from just the touch of him.

She curls her fingers around the can and brings the tip of it to his open mouth, squirting it in, then leaning down to lick the remnants off of his lips. She savors the complimentary flavors of the sweet cream and _him_, relishes the warmth of his mouth, his tongue, against the contrasting coolness of the whipped cream. She moans, and feels him stir against her belly.

"You like that, huh?" she asks, amused, aroused, feeling playful and forgetful and entirely _kittenish_. "You want more?"

"Yes, please," he replies, a cheshire cat grin spreading across his face.

She straddles him, her bottom resting on his thighs, she throws her head back, squirts some of the foamy cream into her mouth, then slowly leans down and plants her mouth on his. His tongue snakes between her lips and he sucks, moaning into her mouth, sending thousands of tiny shivers in a race down her spine.

She raises herself up again, then holds the can poised atop her left breast, an eyebrow raised as though asking _do you want me to do this, too?_

"Kate, god," he whispers, his voice is soft but challenging, a delicious sensual plea.

She arches her back, then squirts a dollop of cream onto each nipple. On her hands and knees, she holds one breast just above his mouth, teasing him, making him wait, squirm, _beg_, until finally she dips her breast into his mouth and he licks, then sucks, nipping at her with his teeth.

Her body is on fire, every cell, every nerve, every hair on her head is ablaze with desire and she wonders how much longer she can tease him before the need to ravish him possesses her and she will pounce like a lioness after her prey.

She can feel him wiggling below her, feel the hardness of him against her, and she pulls away, reaches down and wraps her fingers around his erection with one hand while squirting the sweet cream onto his tip with the other.

She scoots backwards until she can wrap her lips around him. She meets his stare, his eyes dark and hooded, and his hips involuntarily flex against her mouth. She tentatively licks the whipped cream from him, letting it play on her tongue before licking her lips to slurp up every sweet drop. Her eyes sparkle with the devil as she watches him watching her, his breath hisses between his teeth and she relishes the moans that come from deep in his throat.

Oh, this man. How she loves this man, how she loves making love to this man, and she cannot get enough of him. She pushes him deep into her mouth, his eyes are wide open now, blistering with heat as he watches her. She flicks her tongue against his tip before again taking all of him into her and she establishes a slow, steady cadence. His hips rising up to meet her.

She sucks harder, pushing him deeper and deeper, swirling her tongue around him in sultry, measured, seductive circles that, to him, feel like cyclones.

And then he cries out for her with a voice both husky and sweet, her name dangling from his lips, his fingers tangle in her hair as he thrusts his hips upward, a long slow tortured moan building from deep within his chest, and then he stills, panting, whispering her name over and over, _"Kate, Kate, Kate..."_

She wipes her mouth, then crawls up his body until she is laying vertically beside him, one leg strewn across his middle. They kiss, long, slow, deep, and abiding. _I love this man. I love this man. I love this man._

"I love you," he whispers.

"I love you, too," she whispers back.

He slides his hand across the curves of her body, the gentle slope of her abdomen, lower, lower, until he's between her legs and his fingers tease their way between her wet folds.

She gasps, pleasure radiating from her center, and she presses herself against him. He suddenly rolls onto his side, his face inches from hers, and he reaches beyond her for the can of Reddi-Wip.

"Your turn," he teases.

He squirts the whipping cream onto the tip of her nose and then slowly licks it off, playfully kissing her nose when it's licked clean.

She wiggles her hips, for now it's _his_ turn to straddle _her_, and he holds the can of Reddi-Wip high in the air.

"Now," he begins, a devilish expression sweeping his face, "Where should I begin?"

* * *

She flips the pen between her fingers, contemplating whether to check "Yes" or "No" to Bette's invitation, when she feels him behind her.

"You still haven't decided?" He asks, planting a kiss on her cheek as he saunters to the frig in his navy blue robe, pulling out the orange juice and pouring them each a glass.

"Ugh. No," she replies, tucking her hair behind her ears with both hands before scrubbing her face. She drops the pen into the pocket of her robe and shoves the invitation aside.

"Well, what does your gut tell you?"

She regards him, "It tells me to ask _you_. Should we go? Or not?"

"Well..."

* * *

**A/N: The characters of Bette Porter and Tina Kennard belong to Ilene Chaiken, I am just using them for my own wicked purposes. **

**I haven't yet decided myself if they are going or not. What do you think they should do? I may, or may not, yield to popular opinion. **


	10. Chapter 10

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Ten**

**By Dana Keylits**

* * *

**A/N: Buckle up - and don't be afraid. **

**Disclaimer: The character of Bette Porter does not belong to me. She is the heavenly creation of Ilene Chaiken and I am simply borrowing her for a quick spin around the block. So to speak... **

* * *

He's been gone from the table for too long and Kate is starting to feel uncomfortable sitting in Bette's formal dining room without him. She excuses herself, self consciously glancing at the half dozen people gathered around the expansive, exquisitely set, table, and heads in the direction he'd gone, at what feels like, a million years ago.

The hallway is long, _endless_, it seems, with art of every genre adorning it's walls. Kate thinks it odd that there are no pictures of Bette's family, especially her children, anywhere. It's as though her home were a gallery, every inch expertly decorated, but hardly lived in.

She passes by door after door, opening them but not finding him, until she comes to what must be the guest bathroom and she _hears_ him. He's laughing. _What is he laughing at? _He must be on the phone. She knocks gently on the door, but he doesn't respond, so she tries the knob. It's unlocked.

She quietly opens the door and peeks in.

She stands rooted to the spot in the hallway, her white knuckled hand clutching the knob. She wants to scream, or run, or kill someone. Instead she stands mutely in the doorway, watching him. Watching _them_.

Her lover and her ex lover.

And, they're _together._

Kate stares in horrified disbelief as Castle's mouth devours Bette's, his hand hidden beneath the silken fabric of her blouse, her fingers tangled in his hair. She is grinding her hips against him in a slow seductive waltz.

She is going to faint, or vomit, or _die. _She wants to just disappear, fade into the ether, cease existing. She is unable to absorb the scene unfolding before her and all she can do is stand there, stand there and watch as her future and past collide, crushing her, exploding into a million sharp pieces around her. Leaving shards of deadly shrapnel coursing through her as she becomes nothing more than collateral damage.

Her vision clears, and she suddenly finds her voice. "Castle!" She croaks. And they both look at her.

Bette steps away from Castle, not bothering to close her blouse, Castle wipes his mouth and straightens up. "Kate, I, ah. We...she"

Bette saunters towards her, unabashed, unapologetic, unafraid. "Hello, Kate," she purrs. "Rick and I were just getting to," she glances behind her, "...know each other."

Kate is once again stunned into silence. Her mouth hanging open, her narrowed eyes darting between Bette and Castle in utter disbelief, her heart has unwillingly lodged itself in her throat and she is desperately afraid she'll lose her life's breath, that she'll collapse into a puddle of regret and pain and remorse.

She'd spent so many years protecting her heart for a reason, protected herself from _him_ for so long for a reason, and now, everything that kept her from him, every doubt or fear she'd had about him, about _them,_ was suddenly playing out in real time in front of her.

Before she knows what is happening, Bette is in front of her, caressing her cheek with slender, soft, well manicured fingertips. "Why don't you join us?" She smiles.

That smile, that sultry smile that used to make Kate's stomach feel like a score of butterflies had just taken flight.

Kate jerks away, as though the woman's touch has burned her, she absently rubs her cheek. She spins around and steps backwards into the room. "What the hell, Bette?"

Then she feels him behind her and every emotion she's ever felt in her life, from birth to now, floods her mind, her body, overtaxing all of her senses and she inexplicably finds herself leaning against him, searching for relief, for promise, for this nightmare to be a _nightmare_.

He dips his head to her neck and playfully nibbles, snaking his arms around her middle, pulling the curves of her ass against his growing, throbbing, erection. "Let's just go with it, Kate," he suggests in a low throated growl. She wants to run and hide, or turn around and slap him, claw his eyes out, claw _her_ eyes out. But she can't, she can't move, can't run, can't breathe or talk or scream.

Instead, she tilts her head to the side, allowing him free access, closes her eyes and moans, a deep, tortured moan that begins low in her belly and rises through her throat, spilling over her lips.

When her eyes flutter open, Bette is there. She's _right there_ and she leans in, places her soft mouth on Kate's, and kisses her.

Kate is hurled through time to thirteen years ago when she and Bette shared their first kiss. The dynamic thrill of their bodies responding to each other in such a guttural way races through her veins and, unable to stop it, perhaps _unwilling_ to stop it, Kate leans _into_ Bette's kiss.

She's in a bubble, not really herself, but not _not_ herself. She can see and feel and hear the things she is doing, but as thought she is possessed by some unseen force that bends her forcefully to it's will.

She relishes the masculinity of Castle behind her, his swollen sex rubbing against her backside, and savors the femininity of Bette's mouth on hers, her fingers playing with the buttons on Kate's blouse, her breath warm and salty and seducing Kate with the skill and expertise of an aging Geisha.

Before she knows it, Bette has both of Kate's wrists in a viselike grip and pins Kate against Castle using her hips. Kate's head rolls back onto Castle's shoulder and she closes her eyes. Bette has relieved Kate of her blouse, and Castle is fumbling with the clasp of her bra. When it's off, Bette takes both of Kates breasts into her hands and squeezes, teasing the nipples with her thumb, before Castle brings his hands around to encompass them.

Bette moves to pop the button on Kate's black dress pants, and Kate's eyes shoot open.

_No! No, I don't want this._ She screams. But only in her mind, for all that squeaks out of her mouth is a tempered, pathetic, mewl.

Bette's mouth is covering hers again, and Kate whimpers into it.

_No. I have to get away. I don't want this. I don't want them. I don't want either of them. _

She struggles to pull away, the force that has taken possession of her body will not easily let her go, but Kate finally manages to break free and she stumbles away from them, towards the door. She has to get out the door.

She's naked. How did she get naked?

She searches frantically for her clothes, but before she can even believe what is happening, she watches, glued to her spot, as Bette turns to face the vanity, her hands gripping the counter. And then, Castle, _her_ Castle, runs his hand beneath Bette's pencil skirt, snaking his hand along her peach shaped ass before roughly pulling Bette's lacy black panties down.

He quickly unzips.

Kate is dying. She wants to get out of there, to scream, to hurl things at them, to smash every breakable thing in the room, if she'd had her gun with her, she'd _kill_ them. But instead she stands, her emotions a cyclone inside of her, and she stares.

Bette turns to Kate, smiling. _"_Kate. Come here."

She is a marionette and someone else is controlling her strings. She floats to Bette who steps back, forcing Castle back, and then pins Kate between herself and the counter, her lips suckling Kate's nipples, as Kate stares into Castle's hooded dark eyes.

And then Castle enters Bette, and Kate opens her mouth to scream. Nothing comes out, so instead she squeezes her eyes shut and begs. P_lease let me wake up, please, let me wake up, please, oh please, oh please!_

* * *

She sits bolt upright in bed, panicked, panting, her head swirling with images of Bette and Castle. Together. _Fucking_. A wave of nausea overtakes her and she holds her hand to her mouth, as though that might make it stop, which it doesn't.

When her heart calms enough for her breath to reclaim itself, she glances over at Castle as he sleeps beside her, curled into the fetal position, his back to her.

She tentatively reaches over, as though wanting to be sure of him, and lightly brushes her fingertips against the small of his back. But when the gut-wrenching image of him and Bette flitters across her consciousness, she quickly pulls her hand away. Then she looks at him with narrowed eyes, the heat rising in her cheeks, and, without thinking, without reason, she hauls off and smacks him. Hard.

"Jackass!"

Castle's eyes fly open, "Wha? Ouch," he croaks, rolling onto his back and rubbing his shoulder. "What was that for?"

She growls at him, actually_ growls._

He opens one eye to look at her. "Wa-did-i-do?"

She pinches the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

Looking sheepish, he lifts the covers and sniffs. "Did I fart in bed again?"

"God, Castle. No! You...you were with...ugh!" She rubs the heels of both hands against her eyes, trying to erase the offending images from her mind.

"Kate. What? What did I do?" He asks, his voice rising in panic.

She suddenly realizes how foolish she's being and leaps from the bed. "Nothing, never mind." She quickly walks towards the bathroom. "Go back to sleep."

"Whoa. No. You don't get to _hit_ me and then not tell me what I did."

She pauses, placing one hand on her panty-covered hip, the other she uses to nervously tug at the hem of her t-shirt. "I had a dream." She disappears around the corner and into the bathroom, dodging the smugly amused look currently taking possession of his face.

When she returns to the darkened bedroom, he is leaning back against the pillows, his fingers laced behind his head, his lips arranged into a crooked grin.

"You had a dream." He says. Waiting for an explanation.

She makes a face.

"And in this dream I _did_ something," he continues.

She climbs into the bed next to him and sits up against the expansive headboard, draping the covers over her bare legs. She folds her hands into her lap, and side glances at him.

"More like you did..._someone_," she retorts.

"Ahhhhh," he nods. "The classic," his fingers curl into air quotes, "...cheated-on dream."

She makes another face. "I don't know how _classic_ it was, Castle."

His eyebrow curves up, "Oh, really? Did your dream have a 21st century twist? Bondage? Punishment? A threesome?"

She winces when he says it.

He sucks in a sharp breath, "A threesome! Whoa, Kate!" He cannot contain his excitement.

"Don't. It wasn't a pleasant dream, Castle. In fact, I'm still pissed at you!"

"You know that's not fair, right? It was _your_ dream, Kate. Not mine."

"I _know_. Shut up."

"Who was I with? Was it you and Lanie?"

"Ugh. You're a pig."

"Not Gates," he says, frowning.

She gives him one of _those_ looks.

"Oh, God. Please tell me it wasn't Ryan or Esposito," his face a mask of anxiety.

"Ew, Castle, they're like my brothers. Stop it."

"Okay, good. He nibbles on his thumbnail, thinking, and then it crosses his face, that moment when you can almost see the lightbulb blink on. "Oh, wait! I know," he squeals, actually _squeals_, sits up and rests his weight on the palm of his hand. "It was _Bette_! Wasn't it?"

She hesitates, hates that he can read her so well, and then resolves herself to the inevitable. "Yes. Fine. Okay? It was with Bette. But," she holds up one finger, "I did _not_ enjoy it. In fact, I wanted to scream, to stop it, to run out of the room, but I couldn't!"

His face an unabashed reflection of his eager, salacious curiosity, he asks, "what did we _do_, Beckett?"

"Oh, no. No way. I'm not telling you that! It's bad enough I have those images swimming around in _my_ head, no way I'm going to fill _your_ head with them!" She slumps lower beneath the covers and gathers the fabric of his t-shirt into her fist, pulling him towards her. "Now, come here. We're gonna do it. And by _it_ I mean..."

"Wait, what? No!"

She raises her eyebrows, "No?"

"No." He sits up, looking put upon.

"What do you mean, no?"

"I am not some sex slave you can mount any time you want."

"You're not? Since when?" She asks.

"Since," He's searching. He shakes his head. "That's not the point. The point is, If _you're_ not going to put out," he folds his arms across his chest and leans against the headboard, "...then neither am I."

"Yes, you are," she states.

"No," he replies, looking straight ahead, "I am not."

"Yes, you are." She says again, her lips bowing with the licentious pleasure of their little cat and mouse game, already feeling the remnants of the disturbing dream fading into the ether.

He shakes his head, but she can see his resolve waning. "No."

"You know you want to, Castle," she hums, leaning into him, her breath hot on his ear. She licks his earlobe, then nibbles it.

He shivers.

She smiles.

"I ah, no, you are not going to use your witchy powers on me, Kate."

She gets on her knees beside him, leaning back on her heels, she peels off her t-shirt and tosses it to the floor, her breasts immediately covered in goose bumps, her nipples standing deliciously at attention. Purring, she whispers with the deep throated voice of one about to get very, very lucky, "I think you and I both know that it is only a matter of time before you realize you've painted yourself into a corner that you do _not_ want to be in." She leans in again, kisses him softly on the lips, then the chin, then the neck. She revels in the shallowness of his breath, the measured, inflexible stance of his body, every muscle straining, every fiber and cell concentrating on repelling her.

He hums, then mumbles incoherently, squeezing his eyes closed, his body rigid, he's fighting it.

Time for the big guns.

She runs her hand over the sheet along his thigh. Inching further and further up until she's got him between the legs, and he immediately responds, a kittenish grin creeps along her face.

"You think that'll...aaaaahhhh," His mouth drops open and all of the air in his lungs escapes in one long, anguished sigh. "No fair."

She strokes him patiently as he rises against her hand, and when he's swollen and full, she let's go, leaning back, smiling at him with hooded eyes, a sideways grin.

"Oh, good _boy_," she teases, her eyes on his full erection.

She flops down on her back, peeling off her panties, "Now get in here."

"Really. Just like that?"

"Just like that, Castle. I want it old school. Plain, ordinary, missionary style, vanilla flavored sex. Nothing fancy, nothing kinky, don't even need foreplay. Just make love to me. Now."

She grabs his t-shirt again and this time he doesn't resist but climbs on top of her, pushing his boxers down and wiggling them off until they end up a scrunched up heap at the foot of the bed. She pulls his t-shirt off, wanting to feel the warm, soft flesh of his bare chest against hers.

He presses against her, the full length of him covers the full length of her, his hands tucked beneath her shoulders, his face inches from hers, he searches her eyes. "Why? If you're so mad at me, why do you want to make love?"

She blows out a puff of air, wiggling impatiently beneath him. "Because, I need to replace the image of _you_ and _her_ with the _reality_ of _you _and _me!_

He nods. "'kay," and, guiding her legs apart with his knees, his lips at her throat, his fingers tangled in her hair, he slides into her, easily, slowly, deliberately, filling her completely.

And, she throws her head back and moans.

"**Oh**,"

He pulls out, then slowly back in.

"**Very**,"

Her hips rise up to greet him.

"**Good**,"

He establishes a slow, tortured, cadence.

"_**Boy**_!"

She wraps her arms tightly around his neck, savoring the full, complete, _correct_ feeling of their coupling, her hips keeping perfect time with each thrust of him into her. He smiles, then covers her mouth with his in a deep, slow, full bodied kiss, their tongues reaching, swirling, sauntering from his mouth to hers in a beautiful, languid ballet.

She moans into his mouth, keeping her eyes open, she wants to watch this, watch _him_. Erase the images that only a few moments ago had left her angry and tortured.

And, it's working too, because all she can feel is _him_. His body on top of her, his body _inside_ of her. His mouth on her lips, her chin, her neck, her collarbone, then taking in one nipple to suck and nip and then the other. All while moving inside of her as though in time to a measured song only he can hear.

And she is building, reaching, higher and higher, and she knows she will be soaring into an orgasm soon. She fights the urge to close her eyes, because she wants to _watch. _She _needs_ to watch. Watching will heal her. And, he seems to know it, because he's watching too, his baby blues stare into her and she cannot stop it, cannot prevent the avalanche that radiates from between her legs and crashes over every inch of her body.

She cries out, his name a prayer on her lips, as wave after wave after wave washes over her in a tsunami of pleasure.

And, he holds her, holds still until every spasm has subsided, until her breathing has returned to normal, and she whispers, "don't stop." So he continues, and then he is building, climbing, cresting until he explodes inside of her, their eyes still fixed to each other, hooded and dark and naked with the affection, the abiding love, that passes between them, that consumes every molecule in the room.

Satiated, complete, happy, he collapses beside her, her arm lazily lands across his chest and he laces his fingers between hers. "Okay. I was wrong. You can make me your sex slave any time you'd like."

She rolls on her side, swinging her leg across his middle, nestling her head on his shoulder. She closes her eyes, and now what she sees behind her eyelids is _him. _Him as he comes, him as he moves inside of her, him as he coaxes her body towards purest fulfillment. _Him._ She sighs, deep from her throat, she sighs, completely content.

He holds her tighter, whispers in her ear, "You know, Kate. You know that I would never cheat on you. And, I know that this," he pauses, "..._thing_ was just a dream, and it isn't in your conscious mind, but you obviously still worry about it."

"Castle, I..."

He places a silencing finger over her lips. "It's obviously still in there, in your brain. And you've muddled it up somehow with whatever unresolved issues you have with Bette." He places his palm against her cheek, tilts her face to his and kisses her sweetly on the lips, then whispers against her mouth. "But, I am getting tired of having to reassure you that I'm not going anywhere. I'm in this, Kate. I'm _all_ _the_ _way_ in this. Don't doubt me anymore, okay?"

"Castle. It was just a dream."

"I know. I know it was. I'm just saying."

She nods, she knows what he's saying, and he's not wrong. It does tug at the corners of her mind, wakes her in the middle of the night, skitters across her brain anytime he mentions Alexis' mother or she sees him talking to another woman. She hates that it does, but it's there, and she is trying to chase it away.

Tonight helped.

It helped _a lot_.

* * *

"I'm thinking we shouldn't go," Kate explains after brushing her teeth and throwing on the navy bathrobe she keeps at his place now.

"Okay."

"That's it? Okay?"

"Okay. I told you, I'm good with whatever you decide."

"In spite of the fact that you checked _yes_ on the RSVP card?"

"I did that because you refused to decide, which meant that you _wanted_ to go, but were worried about whether _I_ wanted to go. I did that so you could take _me_ out of the equation."

"What are you, my therapist?" She asks, mocking annoyance as she spreads moisturizer on her face.

"I'm not wrong, am I?"

She glances at him through the mirror. He's standing behind her, in his t-shirt and boxers, flossing his teeth.

"No. Probably not. But, I've thought about it, and I think it's best if we don't go."

"Okay. We're good then."

She spins around, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him on the tip of his nose. "We're good."

They emerge from the bedroom, still in their robes, and find Martha curled up on the couch, sorting through the days mail.

"Good morning, mother," Castle sings, leaning down to kiss her on the cheek. "Are you just getting up or just coming home?"

"Oh, pooh." She says, shooing him away. "There's a full pot of coffee on, help yourselves." She instructs.

"Thank you, mother, you're always so generous with my coffee" Castle replies, never bypassing an opportunity to needle his mother about her rent-free living arrangement with him. He links his pinky finger around Kate's and they stroll to the kitchen for coffee.

Martha grunts, used to it by now. "Oh, by the way darling, I put that RSVP card that was sitting on the counter in the mail for you. You're welcome."

* * *

**A/N Okay, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I know that was manipulative and gratuitous and _mean_. But, I had to do it. Once the idea of it skittered across my brain, I simply had no choice! I am all about having my cake and eating it, too! :-) I'll be hiding, now...over there. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Eleven**

**By Dana Keylits**

**A/N: The characters of Bette, Tina, and Peggy Peabody and the book _The Sum__ of her Parts_ do not belong to me. I did not create them. Ilene Chaiken did for a fantastic little cable show called the L Word. I am simply borrowing them, ever appreciative for the color they bring to this story.**

* * *

Her eyes blink open, her pupils constrict from the morning sun streaming in through the long windows of Castle's bedroom. She stretches, arching her back, her arms above her head, yawns and then rolls onto her side to spoon him. She snakes one hand beneath the worn fabric of his dark blue t-shirt. His skin is warm, soft, a little hairy, but not too much. Just the way she likes it. She scoots closer to him in the bed, moves her arm from beneath his t-shirt until it's wrapped around his front, and he stirs, his fingers lace between hers.

"Mmmm," he moans.

She nips at his ear. "Morning."

He rolls onto his back, smiling at her, his face all scrunched up and puffy from sleep. "Just the way I like to be woken up." He blinks, his eyes squint as they adjust to the morning light.

She smiles at him, beams, really. She'll never get tired of this, of him. She snuggles in even closer, he tucks his arm beneath her head, her hand travels beneath his t-shirt again and she traces lazy circle-eights on his skin.

They kiss. Soft, quiet, sweet.

"Are you ready? For tonight?" He asks, his fingers tangled in her chestnut hair.

She nods, "Mmm hmm, you?"

"Yeah," he glances at her. "Are you nervous?"

"No. Not really nervous so much as curious."

"Well, that's why we're going, right? So you can find out what happened back then? Why she ended it?"

She sits up and turns towards him, "Castle, you'd tell me if that bothers you, wouldn't you?"

"It doesn't bother me, Kate. It might have, before." His eyes briefly cloud over, he yawns as he continues, "Before we talked, you know, before we had that fight. But, not now. Besides, how can it bother me? I'm the one who talked you into going."

"And, it doesn't hurt that Bette's wife is a mega-fan, does it?" A sarcastic smile spreads across her face.

He chuckles. "I'd hate to disappoint a mega-fan."

"Yes, I'm sure you would."

"You're a mega-fan, aren't you?"

She leans in and kisses him, "Oh, yeah. Castle. I'm president of the fan club. Didn't you know?" She sneaks her hand below the covers and playfully curls her fingers around him, _there_.

"Whoa, Kate."

An arch of her eyebrow, a crooked smile, she reluctantly removes her hand then lifts herself off the bed. "I'm gonna head home, Castle. I have ignored my laundry all week, and I'm sure there are a few plants in desperate need of water."

"Wha? No, it's Saturday, let's stay in bed a little longer, 'kay?"

She points at the clock on the bedside table, "It's nine-thirty! We've _already_ slept in."

"Yes, but all we did was _sleep_," he pouts.

She makes a face.

He raises his eyebrows, pulls back the covers and pats the mattress beside him.

She rolls her eyes but smiles, then pads back to the bed, "Fine," she says, lifting her night shirt up and over her head then dropping it carelessly to the floor. She can't help but grin as his breath catches with the sight of her naked body. "But, we are not staying in bed until noon again." She crawls beneath the covers beside him, tugging at the hem of his boxers. "Besides, you need plenty of primping time before the party, Castle." She kisses him, "You want to be all pretty for your _mega_-_fan_, don't you?"

* * *

"Whoa, Kate." He stands just inside her front door and admires her outfit, a black Anne Taylor three-quarter length sleeved peplum top with a purple laced straight skirt that stops just above her knees, and four inch black T-strap heels. Her hair is swept up in a messy bun, her bangs fall adorably across her eyes.

His heart-rate accelerates at the sight of her.

"You're not so bad yourself, Castle." She purrs, running one finger beneath the red suspenders he put on, just for her, because he knows she likes them. He's wearing a black Ralph Lauren suit with a red tie that matches his suspenders.

"You, wow. Kate, you look, wow. Wow." He pulls her to him by the waist and they kiss, gently, softly, afraid that if they give in to the charged energy swirling around them, they'll never get out the door.

She glides her hand along his chest, straightens his tie, feeling that familiar pull, the one that always gets them in trouble, the one that usually leads to _lots_ of nakedness. "We should go if we don't want to be embarrassingly late," she blushes.

In the car she side-glances at him, "The Ferrari? Really?"

"What?"

"Who are we trying to impress, Rick?" She asks sarcastically. "We could have just used a car service, we're barely going two miles."

He feigns innocence. "I thought it would be nice to drive the Ferrari since we're all dressed up and everything."

"Uh huh." She smirks, then slides her hand to rest on his knee, slowly inching it up his leg as far as she dares go without distracting him too much. His sharp intake of breath produces a kittenish grin across her already amused features.

"Kate..."

"Oh, we're gonna have fun _tonight_, Castle."

"What? What has gotten _in_ to you?" He side glances at her, smiling, noticing with a shift of his hips the slight upward movement of her hand.

"You," she replies, her voice low and sultry, "...hopefully."

"Wha-?"

"Oh, look, we're here!" She declares, pointing at the curved driveway in front of Bette's building. "Valet, how nice," she notes as he pulls up and the valet trots around to Castle's side of the car, opening his door. Castle takes the numbered card from the man, then runs around to her side and opens the door, holding out his hand for her to take as she gingerly steps out of the car.

As they walk up to the building, he leans in and whispers, "You are going to be the most beautiful woman here." She leans into him, smiling.

* * *

Before he has a chance to rap his knuckles against the door, Kate turns, curls her fingers around his jacket lapel and says, "Before we go in there, you know, no matter what happens or what she says, you know that I..."

He interrupts her with a kiss, then leans back, smiling. "I know."

The door swings open.

"Richard Castle!" Tina exclaims, "And Kate. So glad you both could come." She steps aside arm-sweeping the room, "Please, come in."

They step over the threshold into an expansive high ceilinged two story loft, about twice the size of Castle's place. They can't help but let their eyes roam over the contemporarily decorated room. Art of all genres adorn the subtly painted walls, books of every sort fill the floor to ceiling book-shelves and on one end of the room, in front of a door that leads, presumably, to the kitchen, a huge oak table, set exquisitely for twelve. Beside the front foyer is a long hallway that leads to two rooms and a bathroom, ending at a staircase.

A hired server takes their coats and asks for their drink preference. They both decide on a glass of Pinot Noir as Tina ushers them into the room, walking them over to Bette. The dark haired art curator is engaged in an animated conversation with an older, very handsomely dressed woman, and hadn't seen Kate and Castle enter.

"Kate!" Bette exclaims, her cheeks flushed. "I'm so glad you came!" She hugs Kate tightly, then turns to Castle. "Richard, a pleasure seeing you again." She holds out her hand.

"Rick," he corrects, shaking her hand.

"Rick." Bette nods. She turns to the woman beside her. "This is Peggy Peabody. Peggy, Rick Castle, and Detective Kate Beckett."

Kate shakes the woman's hand, "Just Kate, I'm off duty tonight."

Peggy turns to Castle, "Mr. Castle, you're not the _novelist_, Richard Castle are you?"

"You've read my books?"

"Oh, god no!" Peggy replies,

Kate takes an instant disliking to the woman.

"Not my genre, but my daughters company bid on the movie rights to one of your books."

"Heat Wave," Tina interjects.

"We didn't win the bid." Peggy frowns.

"Well, I'm afraid I didn't have very much to do with the negotiations on that," Castle explains, looking for a way to get out of this conversation.

"Uh huh. Well, I'll say this," Peggy scans him from head to toe. "You're a tasty looking dish, Mr. Castle." She glances at Kate, "Too bad you're already spoken for or I'd bid on _you_, next. _Yum_."

Castle almost does a spit-take, but manages to compose himself. Kate smirks, enjoying this conversation more and more.

"Peggy is known for saying whatever is on her mind," Bette explains. "Why don't I introduce you to the rest of the guests?"

They nod, and follow Bette to a cluster of women standing near the bar in the corner of the room, Peggy Peabody's laughter following them.

Bette has gathered an impressive group of friends, most of them artists, but also a Los Angeles TV host with a last name that Kate cannot pronounce, and a book editor, who Castle knows but doesn't much like, he whispers into Kate's ear that the guy is a pompous empty suit.

"We've got about forty minutes before dinner is served, so please enjoy the wine and tapas and make yourselves at home." Bette offers, eying the door as another guest has just entered. "Will you excuse me?"

They wander to the long wall of books, Castle fingers the spines. "You can tell a lot about people based on their choice of reading material." He offers.

Kate stands close, "Yeah? And, what does," she pulls a book off the shelf, "..._The __Sum of Her Parts_ say about Bette and Tina?"

He takes the book from her and pages it. "Dunno, but it's about self-mutilation." He turns quickly towards Kate who puts one palm up.

"No. Castle. Don't even ask. Ew."

"Right." He puts the book back on the shelf then reaches over, gently sliding a lock of Kate's hair from her eyes. "Did I tell you how sexy you look tonight?"

"Yes," Kate smiles. "Many times."

He inches closer, their bodies almost touching, "Sexy. So. Fucking. Sexy."

"Castle!" Kate hisses, feeling her cheeks grow hot.

He leans in, his breath hot against her ear, "I couldn't help noticing. Are you going _commando_ tonight?"

She smiles, her voice throaty, "Would it turn you on if I were?"

"Ohhhhh," He growls.

She slips her hand beneath his jacket, caressing his ribs, his abdomen. "I'll tell you this much, Castle. What is or _isn't_ beneath my skirt, is for me to know." She seductively slips her tongue in and out of his ear then nibbles at his earlobe, "...and for _you_ to find out."

He shudders, nearly dropping his drink. He half chuckles, half growls, "Oh, Kate! You naughty, little..."

"Excuse me, Rick. Would you mind signing my copy of Frozen Heat?" Tina interrupts, holding the hard copy of Castle's latest Nikki Heat novel in her hands. Evidently, completely oblivious to the sexual tension swirling like a tornado around the pair.

They jerk apart, Kate looks at her feet in order to regain her composure. Castle coughs. "Of course, I, ah, yes, I'd be happy to," he stammers, his cheeks pink, a sheen of sweat springing up on his forehead. "I just need a pen."

Tina hands him both, holding his glass for him, and he scribbles a personal note and his signature on the title page. "Here you go."

Kate smiles, noticing the slight tremble of his hands as he attempts to cap the pen. She surreptitiously slides her hand behind him, giving his ass a quick squeeze.

He hiccups.

She chuckles.

Tina smiles at the pair. "Rick, would you mind? I also have an original poster from the launch of the Derrick Storm graphic novel. It's hanging in my study down the hall." She thumbs behind her.

He jumps, as though waking up from a trance. "No, yes. I, ah, yes." He glances at Kate, grinning, then extends his arm toward the hallway, "Lead the way."

Kate watches them as they walk down the hall, she nibbles on her thumbnail while cocking her head, her eyes darting to his fine, fabulous, perfectly round fanny. Even beneath the suit jacket, she can see it's perky shape and she wants to slap it, or bite it, or both.

"You're smitten," Bette observes.

Kate turns, coming face to face with her former lover. "Hmm?"

She chin nods in Castle's direction. "Richard Castle. You..."

"I am in love with him." Kate finishes.

Bette nods, a subtle smile bows her lips. "You two seem good together."

Kate nods

Bette steps closer, invading Kate's personal space. "There was a time when you and _I_ were good together."

Kate nods again, her eyes drop to the floor, then back up to Bette, she is suddenly uncomfortable, unsure. She doesn't know where Bette is taking this. "That was a long time ago."

"Yes, but, here we are..."

"And it was a very _brief_ moment in time." Kate steps back, creating a more appropriate boundary of space between them. Keenly aware that Castle could return at any minute, she doesn't want any misunderstandings.

A line forms between Bette's obsidian eyes. "Do you regret it, Kate? You're walk on the lesbian side of life?"

Kate shakes her head, "No, no, Bette. I don't regret it. I'm not ashamed of it." She sips her wine, "But it's my past."

"I'm your past."

"Yes. You are."

"I could be your present. We're in the same city again..."

Kate holds up a palm. "Bette, what are you suggesting?" She cocks her head.

"What do you mean?"

Kate glances down the hallway, Castle and Tina have emerged from her study, but are stopped in the hallway, engaged in a jovial discussion by the look of the broad smile on Tina's face. She turns back to Bette. "Why did you break up with me?"

Naked surprise skitters across Bette's face and she opens her mouth to speak, then closes it. She looks away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I, um." She looks into Kate's hazel eyes. "I was falling in love with you."

Now it's Kate's turn to be surprised. She bites the inside of her cheek. "Really."

"Mmm hmm."

"And, so naturally, you would end things. Because being in love with me..."

"You're straight, Kate. I didn't want to go down that road. It was only going to lead to heartbreak."

"Ah," Kate says, pursing her lips. "You underestimated me."

"No. It had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with the fact that I'd fallen for a straight girl just before you, and in doing so got my heart _trampled_ on." Bette sighs, "I couldn't go through that again."

Kate pauses, softening. She knows about protecting her heart. Isn't that what she'd been doing with Castle until recently? A gentle smile graces her features. "I understand."

"Good," Bette says, relief dripping from her voice. "So, does that mean...?"

Kate's head snaps up, "Mean what?"

"Kate, there's something about you, something about us. I want you, around, in my life, I like you." She steps closer. "We're _good_ together," As Kate's face rearranges itself, Bette holds up a staying palm, "...I don't mean in _that_ way. Although, we were good together in that way _once_ _upon_ _a_ _time_."

Kate chuckles in spite of herself. She has to admit that was true. They did have some good times together. It was mainly _horizontal_, but it was good.

Grinning, Bette continues,"...what I mean to say," she inches even closer, placing a hand on Kate's bicep. "...is we have a connection, something, it's something, Kate, and I don't want to let that go."

Kate folds her arms in front of her and steps back. "Bette, I will _always_ remember our time together with nothing but utter fondness." She searches deeply into the others woman's eyes. "You were important to me back then. You had an impact on me in a very _positive_ way." She sighs. "But, I have no desire to re-visit the past when my future is right _there_." She lifts her left arm and thumbs towards the hallway where Castle and Tina are still in deep conversation. "And, isn't _she_ _your_ future?" Kate glances at Tina.

Bette smiles, steps back. "Tina is my past, my present, _and_ my future. But that doesn't mean you can't be all of those things, too."

Kate shakes her head. "I don't know what you mean by that. Bette."

"I'm not talking about cheating on our partners." Bette explains. "If that's what you're thinking."

"Well, I can't lie. I _am_ thinking that." Kate looks even more confused than ever. "Can you blame me?"

Bette laughs. "Well, let me disabuse you of that notion right now." She holds up her ring finger, "I'm married. That means something to me."

Kate suddenly feels stupid. How could she have been reading the signals so wrong? "Then why? Why would you invite me here? Why do you want me back in your life...?"

"Because Bette collects pretty things," Peggy Peabody interrupts, looking Kate up and down, "And you, my darling, are a _very_ pretty thing."

"Peggy!" Bette breathes, "Kate, I'm..."

Peggy waves her hand, "Don't go apologizing for me, Bette Porter, you know it's the truth. Look around this room, look at the people here. Do you see a single ugly thing? No. Bette likes pretty."

Kate looks from Peggy to Bette and then back to Peggy. "I, uh, I don't know what to say to that!"

"I don't blame you. Do you know that I slept with a lesbian once?"

Kate shakes her head, checking the hallway to see if Castle is going to join her any time soon. "No, I, ah, I didn't know that."

"It was a very intriguing experience, I must admit. Ooh, Pulpo a Fiera. Bette, you didn't tell me you were serving octopus?!" She turns on her heel to follow the server.

"I'm sorry about that. Peggy is a wild card. You never know what is going to come out of her mouth."

Kate laughs. "It's okay."

They stand in awkward silence until Bette finally reaches over and takes Kate's hand. "Look. I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable, and I am not proposing something untoward. There is something about you, Kate, that I find very attractive. But I only want your friendship."

Kate stares at their joined hands, she can't help but travel back in time to what would happen next if this were then, and a shiver travels up and down her spine. She can't deny the chemistry between them, even though it's just a reminder of their past, it's still there. And, it makes her uncomfortable. She looks back up. "Thank you, Bette. For explaining. I always wondered what I did to make you turn me out like that."

"You didn't do anything. I was a coward."

"Thing is, you were probably right. I don't know how long a relationship with me would have lasted." She squeezes Bette's hand before letting go. "But it would have been fun to find out."

Bette smiles, "Yeah. It would have been _very_ fun."

The two women just stare at each other, smiling, remembering, a silent agreement passes between them. To cherish what they had, but move forward in whatever natural way they can. Whether that means _in_ each others lives or _not_. Kate reaches out and pulls Bette into a quick embrace. When they part, Kate notices Castle is beside her.

"Hi," she says, reaching for his hand.

"Hi," he replies, smiling down at her. "Everything ok?"

"Mmm hmm."

"Babe, we should check on dinner. It's probably time to eat," Tina suggests, tugging at Bette's elbow.

Bette smiles at them, "Will you excuse us?"

"Sure," Kate answers.

Castle inches closer and Kate wraps her arms around his middle. "Did you get the answers you wanted, Kate?"

"Yes, I think so." She replies, smiling.

"And, are you going to share?"

"She was afraid of falling in love with me," Kate replies, then recounts her entire conversation with Bette, including Peggy Peabody's colorful contribution.

"So?" He pulls her closer, "Are you happy we came?"

She kisses him quickly on the lips, "Yeah. I guess I am." She pulls away and slips her hands beneath his suspenders, "If only to see you in _these_." She snaps them playfully.

"Hey! You are awfully _handsy_ tonight."

"Oh, Castle, if only you knew the filthy intentions my fingertips have planned for later," she teases, brushing them lightly over his front as she glances around, making sure other eyes aren't watching.

He flinches, taking her hand in his. "Whoa, ha, ha, ho," he mumbles, his eyes shiny, his desire for her evident in their crinkled corners. He beams down at her.

She presses her lips to his ear, "Filthy, filthy things, Castle."

"Okay, everyone," Bette calls out to the assembled guests, "Dinner is served. Please come to the table."

Kate and Castle are seated beside each other, Bette is across from Kate, Tina across from Castle. Peggy Peabody graces the head of the table, to Castle's right, and the pompous book editor sits to Kate's left. The TV host sits to Bette's right, and Kate can't remember who the rest of the guests are, but they are, as Peggy pointed out earlier, all very pretty people.

The conversation is interesting, amusing, sometimes pretentious, but Kate is enjoying herself, happy to have Castle by her side. She slides her hand on his knee and squeezes, he rests his hand on top of hers and they eat that way, hand in hand, even as they converse with the people around them.

Suddenly, Kate feels a stockinged foot slide up her calf and she is startled, she looks up at Bette, who glances back at her, smiling. Kate's mouth drops open and she gasps, almost inaudibly, but enough for Castle to hear. What is Bette playing at? Was all of that talk about just wanting friendship complete bullshit? She is about to excuse herself from the table when Castle leans in.

"Don't panic. That's me."

She looks down, "How are you...?" He has his left leg beneath her chair, his foot sliding up and down her calf. A slow grin spreads across her face. "Oh, you are going to pay for that later," she whispers.

"I hope so," he replies under his breath.

He returns his foot to it's rightful and proper place inside the expensive black leather shoe, resuming his conversation with Tina, who begins discussing her latest documentary project. But within a few minutes, he jumps when he feels a foot sliding up _his_ leg, beneath the cuff of his pants, curling around his calf, and a devilish grin curves his lips. He glances over at Kate...and gasps. She is engaged in an animated conversation with the empty suit, her legs beneath her, her feet to herself. His eyes dart to Bette, who is listening to Kate, and Tina who is leaning behind Bette talking to the chatty blonde talk show host. He groans, briefly shuts his eyes, then turns to looks at Peggy Peabody. She's got her chin propped up in the palm of her hand, her elbow resting on the table, a sultry grin plastered on her face. She waggles her eyebrows at him, enjoying his discomfort as he reaches down and politely pushes her foot away. He stands up, excusing himself and asks for the little boys room.

Bette stands, "I'll show you where it is."

Kate feels a rising sense of panic as she watches Castle and Bette round the corner to go down the hall, her dream from the other night reaching out from its dark hazy place in her mind, seizing control of her good senses, and she excuses herself from the table.

She passes Bette in the hallway, who points out the door to the bathroom. "Or, you can use the one upstairs, if you don't want to wait."

"Thanks," Kate replies, "I'll just wait."

Bette pauses, a presumptive twinkle in her eye, "Or course."

* * *

_Kate leans against the wall, staring at the closed bathroom door, her thumbnail between her teeth. I stare at her, she still has the same perfect posture I remember from so long ago. Lean, casual, seductive, sexy. Back then, Kate had no idea how incredible she was. How mesmerizing, intelligent, and extraordinary she was._

_She knows it now, though, and I openly admire her curves and lines, the feminine, but strong, way she carries herself, the self assured way she talks to me. No longer the shy, inexperienced girl. No, Kate Beckett is a self-possessed, extraordinary woman. And, while my intentions are platonic, I am drawn to her._

_My mind naturally travels back to that day. That last day we were together. It was extraordinary, just like her. Until after we'd made love and I'd told her it was over. I'll never forget her face, the fallen way she looked, and, I couldn't explain it, couldn't help her understand it. Because I was afraid she'd convince me to change my mind._

_She almost did._

* * *

**Stanford University, December 1, 1999**

_"I don't understand! Bette! What did I do?" Kate pleads._

_I am standing at the foot of the bed tying the sash on my silky robe as Kate gathers the sheet around her, covering her naked flesh against the harshness of my words. I hate myself right now, hate myself for producing that look on her face._

_"You didn't do anything, Kate. You're," I pause, needing to keep the tears at bay, "...lovely. Perfect. It's just. This isn't what I want anymore. It isn't what I need."_

_Her eyes are cloudy, her face contorts into an expression of shock, pain, disbelief. I hate myself._

_"I.." She stops, her mouth open. "I don't know what to say. It seemed like an hour ago this is what you wanted! An hour ago, when I made you come? An hour ago, when my mouth was on your..?"_

_I can see she's trying to control her anger._

_"An hour ago, when you told me how beautiful I am?" She looks up, tears spilling down her cheeks._

_And, I hate myself._

_I go to her, sit on the edge of the bed, but she slides away from me, clutching the sheet to her breasts, her face a naked betrayal of her anger, her hurt and confusion. I reach out, press my palm to her cheek. I wipe her tears with my thumb as I feel my own eyes grow misty and unfocused. "Kate," I whisper._

_She grabs my wrist, pulls me to her, pulls me on top of her, crushes her mouth to mine, her tongue diving past my lips, curling around my tongue, desperate, angry, searching, pleading. She pulls at the sash of my robe, forces it open, the sheet falls, gathers around her waist and she smashes her body against me, I feel the hardness of her nipples against my breasts and flames lick at my belly._

_I pull away, sit up, grab both of her wrists and look deeply into her eyes. "No," I hiss. "No, Kate. I can't do this with you. Not anymore."_

_She just stares at me, her face blank, her breathing labored. And then her features slowly change, from disbelief to sadness to anger. Her tears flow freely now, she doesn't bother to blink them away. She grits her teeth and wriggles her wrists out of my hands. "Fuck you!"_

_I hate myself._

_I climb off of her and stand up. "I'm going to get dressed. I'll give you a ride home."_

_She's already out of the bed, gathering her clothing, searching under the bed for her shoes. "Don't bother."_

_"Kate, it's late. I'll give you a ride."_

_She's already into her jeans and slipping into her bra when she shoots a look at me, an angry, perplexed, sad look. "I don't need you to give me anything, Bette."_

_"I wish I could explain this to you. Kate, it's not you! It's me. It's, I'm. I'm fucked up, Kate."_

_She just stand there, her shirt dangling from her fingers, one hand on her hip, she stares at the floor. Seconds tick by, then minutes. We don't move, we barely breathe. I am waiting for her to explode, to cry, to scream at me. But, she just stands there._

_And then, she looks up. Wipes her cheeks with one fist. Straightens her posture, pulls her shirt on and buttons it. She nods, slipping into her shoes. Then she crosses the room and stands in front of me._

_"Fine." She grabs the back of my head, pulling my hair, then plants her lips angrily on mine, biting my bottom lip before darting her tongue into my mouth in one final, angry, frenzied exploration. I fall hopelessly into her, matching her furious cadence, re-examining my decision, wondering if I've made a mistake, before she suddenly lets go, stumbling backwards. "Whatever it is. Whatever need you have that I can't fulfill. I hope it's worth losing me over, Bette. Because we could have been great together!"_

_And then she grabs her keys and her bag and walks out of my apartment, out of my life._

_And, I hate myself._


	12. Chapter 12

**Passions Past**

**Chapter Twelve**

**By Dana Keylits**

**Disclaimer: The characters of Bette Porter and Peggy Peabody are the wonderful creation of Ilene Chaiken, the mastermind behind the L Word. I salute you Ilene, by using your creation in this little piece of adoration. **

* * *

Kate leans against the wall, waiting for the bathroom door to open. The unnerving sense of deja vu having passed when Bette re-joined the party, the remnants of her dream from the other night evidently still very much implanted into the dark corners of her brain. She feels stupid for even _being_ so insecure, and is about to return to the table herself when he opens the door with a _whoosh_ and a smile. He stops, grinning at her, one of those grins. The kind that make her knees weak, make her melt, make her _want_.

She places both palms roughly against his chest, her carnal intentions more than clear in the way her eyes sparkle, her lips bow, and she shoves him backwards into the large marble tiled bathroom, kicking the door shut with her foot

"Detective Beckett..." he stammers.

"Mr. Castle," she purrs. She inches towards him, her eyes greedily wander up and down his masculine frame. She reaches out, tucks her fingers just beneath the waistband of his pants and pulls him towards her. She is aloof, in command, sultry, sexy, _on_ _fire_. Her hands splay out over his abdomen, up his ribcage to his well-formed pectorals, where they stop, sliding beneath the suspenders, her fingers dancing over his nipples, they harden beneath the fabric of his white dress shirt. She licks her lips and presses closer, looking at him, her breath coming out in small quick _pants_. She is in control now, her fingers itching to respond to the seductive bidding of her brain.

He likes this, craves this, is _dying_ for this, and he still can't believe he had to wait for four years to see her like this. Not even in his wildest fantasies was she ever this unshackled, this carefree, this _wild_.

His hooded eyes roam her body and her aloofness disintegrates like a summer puddle. She gasps, then laughs, then crushes her mouth to his, his hands at her neck, his fingers splayed over her throat.

He gasps for air, moaning. "What are you doing to me?"

"I could ask you the same thing," she whispers, her lips having traveled to his neck, his ear, capturing his earlobe, which she sucks, sending a million tiny shivers in a race down his spine.

He is a puddle beneath her touch and when her hips grind into him, he flinches, bending towards her in an attempt to prevent the erection that is surely about to make its grateful appearance.

"Careful, Kate," he warns, backing away. He places his hands at her hips and gently guides her away from him, "This could get out of hand, very _quickly_."

She grins, her chameleon eyes shiny, unfocused, lusty. "Oh, I hope so."

They kiss again, deeply, probing, their tongues engaged in a heated sexy swordplay. The air around them is charged, their bodies humming, vibrating with need, with desire, their kiss grows frantic, passionate, out of control and the pleasure in her belly that has been on a low simmer all night threatens to rise up, overtake her, make her _do_ things to him that she probably shouldn't do while standing in the middle of Bette Porters bathroom.

So when there is a sharp knock at the door, it is probably a blessing, and they pull apart quickly. Castle nervously runs his fingers through his hair and coughs. "Be out in a minute," he squeaks, and Kate laughs. Of course she laughs. She feels unabashed, free, dominating and submissive at the same time, and in a wonderfully paradoxical way.

She checks herself in the mirror, offers Castle a tissue, and points at his mouth, "Lipstick."

He wipes it off, tossing the tissue in the wicker basket by the sink and then straightens his tie. He nods and she opens the door, her cheeks slightly crimson with the knowledge that whoever is on the other side is going to know _exactly_ what they were doing in there.

"Oh, _damn!" _Peggy Peabody exclaims. "I would have _loved_ to watch!" She winks at the pair, before pushing past them into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

They stop, each staring at the door before turning to each other, grinning, relieved, laughing, _happy_.

"Wadda say we get out of here?" She suggests, pinning herself against him.

"I, you sure?" he stammers.

She slides her hand down his backside, squeezing. "Yeah. I have _plans_ for us."

* * *

They had made as quick an exit as they politely could, Kate promising to keep in touch with Bette, though not entirely sure whether she will keep that promise or not, but deciding she didn't need to have all of that figured out just yet. Because right then, all she could concentrate on was getting Castle in the car, where she could _do_ things to him, _inappropriate_ things that she can't do in front of an audience.

But as soon as the valet pulls up with the car and they slide into the comfortable leather seats, it is _his_ hands that wander inappropriately, sliding up her leg, tickling the inside of her thigh as he murmurs how sexy she is, how he _has_ to know what she's wearing beneath her skirt, and something else that she doesn't hear because the blood is racing through her veins so quickly it sounds like a freight train in her ears.

As he maneuvers the Ferrari through the late night traffic, he tugs at the hem of her skirt, ordering her to slide it up. She raises her hips then hikes the skirt up, exposing her bare thighs. His hand maps a trail up and down her inner thigh, sending pinpricks of electricity along her goose-bumped flesh. She closes her eyes, raises her arms to clutch at the back of the headrest, arching her back. She wiggles in her seat, anticipating where his hand will go next, but he stalls, teasing her, enjoying her torment.

"Ohhhh, God. Castle. You tease," she whispers.

He chuckles, the stirring of his own belly prodding him forward. He curls his fingers against her warm thigh, scraping his fingernails along her flesh, himself ascending from the moan that tumbles from her lips. He inches his fingertips further and further up, in minuscule increments, her hips rise to meet him, her breath coming out in short bursts. Her legs involuntarily part, making room for him, and he slides one finger up, between them and her breath soon escapes her lungs in one long, slow, tortured hiss.

His hand is there now, encompassing her, stroking her, kneading her aroused flesh and she places one trembling hand over his, urging him to increase his cadence, her other arm still curled around the sturdy headrest.

He smiles as his fingers slide over the lacy fabric of her panties, "A thong," he whispers. "You're wearing a thong." and he curls one finger beneath the fabric, pushing it to the side so his skin is now against hers, his fingers probing.

"Mmm hmm," is all she can say, her eyes still closed, the vibration of the moving car and his hand against her body, coaxing her to the soaring, steep heights of pleasure she'd been fantasizing about all evening.

He slides two fingers past her silken folds and enters her, her body responds, grasping him, eager and ready. She can't believe how quickly she is climbing, how thrilling and lewd this is, being fondled by her lover in the middle of Manhattan's bustling saturday evening traffic.

And she doesn't care, she's liberated, horny, submitting to his expert touch, and whatever is happening in the world outside of this car simply doesn't _matter_. She is in need of nothing but him. Not air, or water, breath or light. All she needs is _him_.

She sways her hips, back and forth, a metronomic cadence against his hand, his fingers, and she feels as if her body is becoming one with the now sticky leather seat beneath her, she relishes it's pure unadulterated eroticism.

She is momentarily distracted by the approaching sound of a police siren and lifts her head, her eyelids half open as she watches it speed past them. She isn't even relieved because she's feeling reckless, abandoning all care for social convention and wouldn't have even blinked if they'd gotten pulled over. It would have just added to the lasciviousness of the evening.

She tunes in to her body, trying to note every movement and shudder, wanting to savor it all so she can reflect on it later, add this thrilling experience to the long list of erotic experiences she and Castle have had in their short time together. She files it under "fucking" in the kinky folder of her mind.

He moves his thumb over her hardened clit, stroking it, circling it, rubbing it gently, then harder. Her already well-established arousal builds even higher, pleasure flutters low in her belly, tightening muscles and taking her breath. The car lurches as Castle guides it over a speed bump and around an orange cone marking the spot where road crews are working on one of the millions of potholes that dot the cities streets, the motion of it becomes part of the erotic sensation of what's happening within the car and she moans, her hips moving in even faster rhythm against his inveigling hand.

The first tremors of her orgasm flicker inside her, her heart beats faster, pulsing in her chest, throbbing between her legs, urging him to coerce her body into it's highest, purest pleasure.

He senses her nearness and moves his hand faster, harder. Her cheeks flush, eyelashes flutter. She is close, so close. Her legs tense and she grits her teeth, preparing for the explosion that she knows is coming.

And, oh, it _comes_. It comes hard, and fast, and _roars_ it's way throughout her body. He holds his hand still as her delicious spasms pulse against him and a grin creeps along his face as he feels them, reveling in the knowledge that he has brought this for her.

She moans, bucking her hips, tossing her head from side to side, letting the full, raw, _incredible_ power of her orgasm rock her body and scorch her mind.

It takes a few moments for her to come down from her climax, and when she does, she realizes they are already parked in the garage located in the dark bowels of his building. She turns her head, gazes at him. His eyelids are hooded, his face dark and panting, the arousal between his legs clearly evident.

Without words, she goes to him, releasing her seat belt, she clutches his shoulders, raising one leg to swing around him so she can straddle him. It's not easy, there isn't much room and she reaches down to the controls, easing his seat as far back as it will go. It isn't much, but it gives her enough room and she is able to maneuver her right knee between the leather seat and the drivers side door, ignoring the acute pain that shoots up her knee because of its awkward position.

She releases his seatbelt and it retracts with an efficient sounding _zip_. Then she quickly works her fingers over the button of his pants, sliding the zipper down, releasing him. She pauses, her eyes greedily taking in the sight of his full, delicious erection, and she purrs, _relishing_ the salaciousness of him, of _it_, of them together in his car, _his_ _car_! An act that could, conceivably, get them both arrested.

But, she doesn't care, so free, so unguarded is she that she takes him into her hand, stroking, coaxing, teasing, and a strangled moan escapes his lips.

They gaze at each other, the steel blue of his eyes in erotic synch to the cool green of hers. She leans in, her mouth hot and wanting and places it on his, her tongue delving past his lips in desperate exploration, need, probing desire. She raises herself up, grasping him with one hand to guide him into her as she sinks down and he fills her completely with a sigh and a growl. She captures his bottom lip with her teeth, moans into his mouth.

And they _fuck_.

Quickly, frantically, like teenaged lovers desperately trying to _come_ before they get caught in the back of her parents station wagon.

Her first orgasm was incredible, but the prospect of another almost has her begging, and she thrusts her hips, establishing a punishing rhythm. She groans, clutching his shoulders, writhing against him as they build together.

"Faster, Castle. I'm already so close."

Obligingly, he thrusts harder, faster, she matches him perfectly, her fingers curl in his hair, and she tenses her legs as the climax finally takes hold.

She cries out, her legs shake, hips buck and suddenly she is filled with all of the ambient sensations, his scent, feel, aura, the sheen of steam that has covered the windows, the sultry, salty air that surrounds them, his full erection deep inside of her, her delightful contractions, all converging in one enormous, fantastic, _mind_ _blowing_ orgasm.

Grasping her thighs, he rides out the orgasm with her. Gradually, the tremors subside and in the darkness of the car she can sense him smiling, enjoying her pleasure as if it were his own, which it _soon_ will be.

She resumes her gyrations, fast, hard, she clutches her arms desperately around his neck as she rocks quickly against him, coaxing the orgasm from him. His body vibrates against her, his breath quick, short, panting, his eyes squeeze shut as he buries his face in her neck.

"Castle, _come_ for me," she whispers.

And then, like a stupefied adolescent, he explodes. Thrusting deeply into her with each spasm, once, twice, a third time. He cries out repeatedly, her name echoing, swirling, bouncing around the confines of the car, and then he relaxes, satiated, filled, gloriously released.

She eases off of him, then flops onto the seat beside him. Long tendrils of hair having long ago escaped the bondage of the fanciful metal clip she had so carefully applied earlier that evening. She pulls it out, shaking her head as the locks of chestnut hair fall around her shoulders, then leans back against the seat, closing her eyes, capturing this moment in her psyche, locking it away with the collection of memories she has of _him_ and _her_ together. Her heart swells and she reaches over with one limp hand in search of him. His fingers find her and they lace together, their entwined hands resting in the space between them.

When finally they can speak, and move, they lean in for a gentle kiss, the unspoken promise that they'll definitely do _that_ again passes between them.

"That was...' she starts.

"Fucking awesome," he finishes.

She turns, reaches up and glides her fingertip along his jawline, her eyes searching his. "Thank you."

He smiles, kissing the pad of her finger. "No, thank _you_, Kate."

She giggles, "No, not for _that_. Though, thank you for _that_, too." She waggles her eyebrows. "Thank you for going to Bette's party with me."

He smiles, knows he doesn't need to say much, knows what this journey has been for her, for both of them, so he simply says, "Always."

**The End.**

**A/N: I am both relieved and saddened that this little , was-going-to-be-a-one-shot, story has come to an end. But, as is often the case, all good things must come to an end. Or, must they? Watch for an epilogue in the coming days. And then, who knows, maybe I will be inspired to write a sequel. After all, I am sure there is a lot more between Kate and Bette to be mined for our vicarious pleasure! **

**Thank you so much to all of you for going on this fun, playful, sexy, kinky, sometimes angst-filled, journey with me. It's been a blast! xo, dk.**


	13. Epilogue

**Passions Past**

**Epilogue**

**by Dana Keylits**

After a long Monday at work, Kate slips her key into the lock on her front door and absently enters the empty apartment. She is wired from the day, and wants nothing more than a nice meal, a mulled glass of wine, and Castle, to help her unwind.

He'd agreed to pick up chinese on his way to her place and she had already downloaded a movie onto her Tivo before leaving for work that morning. After their exploits of the weekend, including the incredible lovemaking session in his Ferrari, they just wanted a quiet night at home.

After dropping her keys on the kitchen counter she wanders into the bedroom to change into a pair of faded jeans and an old NYPD t-shirt. Standing in front of her bureau, she is suddenly distracted by an unexpected glint of light reflecting from an object on the floor beneath the wardrobe. She goes to it, kneeling on the floor, and drags it towards her.

She's completely forgotten about it. Forgotten why it was even there and she feels her breath catch in her throat as the painful images of that night play across her mind like a movie on a screen. She frowns, remembering.

She picks up the grainy black and white photograph taken of her and Bette during the party at which they met, and cradles it in the palm of her hand. The glass of the picture frame is cracked from when Kate had thrown it on the floor in a guttural response to her unyielding pain and anger those many nights ago. A jagged line from the cut glass runs between her and Bette, which seems fitting, somehow.

As she places her hand on the floor to stand up, her finger lands on a small object that she accidentally sends skittering across the hard wood. Her eyes follow it's path and she smiles, remembering.

It's Castle's button. The one from his shirt, the one she'd ripped off of him when she could no longer abide the clothing that had separated them. It popped off the night they'd had _the_ _talk_. The night that everything became okay, became _more_ than okay between them.

She picks it up, rolls it around in her fingers than clutches it firmly in her fist and holds it to her heart, closing her eyes she offers a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for bring her _him._

"Kate?" Castle calls from the kitchen, "I'm here."

She sets the picture and button on the bed and joins him in the kitchen. "Hi," she greets, kissing him quickly on the lips, her hand gently squeezing his elbow. "What'd you bring us?"

He takes off his jacket and absently tosses it on one of the stools at her kitchen counter. "General Tso's chicken, spring rolls, pot-stickers and cream cheese puffs."

She chuckles, "You thought of it all. You want some wine?" She reaches behind her for two glasses and pours them both a glass of chardonnay. They take the food and wine to the living room, settle in on the couch, and Kate clicks on the TV, the remote poised at the Tivo machine. "Ready for movie night?"

Castle cringes, wondering what god-awful chick-flick she might subject him to. But she surprises him with _Once A Thief_, a John Woo film and he waggles his eyebrows at her. "Perfect! I knew there was a reason we're so compatible."

She smiles, taking a bite from a spring roll. "Because we both have fantastic taste in movies?"

He leans in, licks the remnants of the spring roll from her lips and kisses her softy. "Among other things."

Halfway through the film, the food long ago eaten, they're cocooned together on the couch, Kate's head rests against his shoulder, a comforting sense of warmth, of serenity, fills her, and she again offers thanks to whatever force in the universe has brought them together.

She hates to disturb their cozy repose, but she needs to use the bathroom. So, she pauses the film and asks him to brew some decaf. When she's done in the bathroom, she passes through her bedroom to grab the warm hand-knit throw she keeps at the foot of her bed and her eyes are unwittingly drawn to the broken-framed picture of her and Bette, and Castle's small baby blue button, that sit innocently on the duvet.

She runs her fingers over the picture and smiles. She will always be grateful for the time she spent with Bette, but that is her past. She lifts the button to her lips. _He_ is her _now _and_ hopefully_, her future.

She tucks the button in her pocket, keeping it like a talisman against any force that might try to separate them, and kneels in front of the bed. She pulls out the wooden keepsakes box she keeps stored beneath the bed-frame and opens the lid. She pauses, runs her thumb one more time over Bette's face, then sets the picture on top of her old Nebula 9 costume, another fond reminder of a time gone by. She pats it twice as if saying goodbye, then closes the lid and shoves the box back to it's hiding place.

When she walks out of the bedroom he is in the kitchen, pouring them each a hot mug of decaf. She has wrapped the blanket around her shoulders so when she goes to him, circling her arms around his middle, she envelopes them both beneath the blanket, like a protection, a force field that binds them together. They kiss, easy, slow, sweet, and she takes comfort in the warmth and weight of his body as she leans into him.

After a minute of kissing and cuddling they pick up their mugs and return to their spot on the couch. She throws the blanket over them both, reaches for his hand beneath the warm knit cover and their fingers lace together.

"Ready for the second act?" She asks.

He nods. "Ready."

**The End**

**A/N: Crazy mad thanks to all of you who have followed this journey, to Kristy for keeping me from giving up, and to MY real life Always, Michelle, who reads my stuff even though she doesn't watch Castle. This has truly been a fun experience, my first shot at a multi chapter story, and I am blown away by your response. I am truly grateful. :-)**


	14. Authors Note

**A/N: **I am including this authors note here, for those of you who followed Passions Past. I have written a new fic, called Passions Prologue, that explores the 15 days that Kate Beckett spent with Bette Porter.

If you are interested in reading that story, you can find it on my authors page. I have just posted it.

Thanks!

DK


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